


i wish that i could stop cause it hurts so much

by milkandcookieshero



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Animal Transformation, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Burns, Fantastical Racism, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Sicknesses, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Mentioned Past Deaths, Mind Control, Passing Out, Possession, Strangulation, Team as Family, Temporary Blindness, broken ribs, chapters will be named based off of the prompt as a warning, hey so this is a collection of bad things happen bingo prompts, poor yasha im sorry baby, tags will be added as warnings for each new chapter, temporary deafness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-03-13 13:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18942193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkandcookieshero/pseuds/milkandcookieshero
Summary: these battle scars don't look like they're fading, don't look like they'll ever go awayor; a collection of bad things happen bingo for yasha (i'm sorry)





	1. Starvation

Yasha’s been missing for three months.

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, but these times were anything but. The party had been traveling through a rather harsh and seedy city. One that, despite it’s infamous reputation, is huge, even for Empire-city standards. The cramped living conditions only make it seem even bigger. There’s also a lot of people, with large swarms of citizens milling about without a care for any other being.

It’s in the middle of one of these crowds that they lose Yasha.

The group is slowly forcing their way through the sea of people, with Beauregard, Jester, Nott, and Molly leading the pack. Fjord, Caleb, Caduceus, and Yasha act as damage control, trying to pacify anyone who seems too offended. They’ve almost made it to their goal - a small tavern that hosts their source for details about a corrupted gang - when Molly stops, turning to ask Yasha something, only to find his best friend missing.

He, along with Jester and Beau, separate from the others to search for the barbarian, whose seemingly vanished into thin air. The others continue on to their meet-up; the information too important to miss out on. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turns into hours, but there is still no sign of Yasha. It’s only when they group up again that some light is shed on the situation.

Apparently, the gang that worked this side of town had a nasty habit of picking up outcasts, stragglers, and foreigners and using them as slaves for their own labor needs. Their ruthless treatment of the forced laborers is not hidden; many bodies are found strewn about in alleys, skeletal and broken.

And it seems they’ve gotten their hands on Yasha.

The group has searched relentlessly for their friend, turning every inch of the town upside-down in a mad desperation. However, even with the informant’s advice, they find no evidence to further their investigation, aside from two bone-chilling discoveries. 

The first thing they find is the signs of an obvious struggle. An alleyway they enter is trashed to the point where everything in the small area is in some way broken. There are scuff marks, spots of heavy impact, and most alarmingly, dried smears of blood. The second discovery is found in the same location, tucked away behind an upturned crate.

It’s a blood-stained shawl - dark fur dyed an ugly brown.

It’s _Yasha’s_ shawl.

Aside from those two pieces of info, the trail runs cold. It goes cold for three. Fucking. Months. 

Three months that their friend is subjected to gods’ know what, alone and weaponless. The search nearly drives the group mad in their desperation to find Yasha, but no matter how hard they try, it seems fruitless.

Until Beau finds a crucial clue.

…

It’s sheer luck that Beau had managed to find and successfully knock out a member of the gang. The drow lies limp on the unforgiving stone floor, face bloodied but chest rising and falling with breath. It’s a miracle Beau didn’t kill him, as she’d pounded his face in until it looked like he’d seen the bad side of a meat hammer.

Beau is taken away by Jester while Fjord, Caleb, and Molly interrogate the man. The cleric manages to soothe the monk’s rage as the others glean the man of information. He eventually gives in to them, and spits out something before promptly passing out in fear.

He gives them the location where slaves are held.

It takes them less than an hour to find it.

…

For Beau, fighting always has given her a certain rush that nothing else in life had. It sent adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping her up until she could feel every single consecutive beat of her heart, every breath in and out of her lungs. It made her feel oh so alive and grounded and real.

But not now.

Fighting now, Beau tears through one slaver after another, body moving mechanically and eyes glazed over. Her face is an eerie mask of blank nothingness, which betrays her inner fury. She takes great pleasure in taking down each and every person slowly, but her lips never once twitch into her familiar smirk.

She can’t smile. She won’t. Not until she knows Yasha is alive.

So she doesn’t stop fighting until the group has killed every single person there. The others loot bodies but Beau doesn’t have the time. She can’t stop now. Every moment wasted is a moment where Yasha might be killed. There could be more slavers hidden and they could be beating her, torturing her, not stopping until she could no longer breathe-

Beau closes her eyes and sucks in a sharp, shaky breath, pretending to ignore Jester’s knowing glance. Instead, she shoulders by Fjord and descends down a cracked flight of stone stairs.

They lead down a thin, narrow path that only widens out when the iron bars of cells - no, they’re cages, holy fuck they kept people in cages - come into view. Inside most, there is a rotting corpse or someone on their deathbed. Caduceus and Jester both put the people to rest, but Beau doesn’t stop. Won’t stop until she knows that she won’t see heterochromatic eyes glazed over in death.

She doesn’t see them.

Not until she gets to the very end of the hall that ends at one thick, metal door. Caleb mutters an arcane word, and the lock falls away, and Beau, without any hesitation, throws the door open with all of her weight and charges in.

She stumbles over her own two feet, and immediately wishes she hadn’t.

Because lying limp on her side in a pool of her own blood, barely breathing, is Yasha.

Beau forgoes all other thought and sprints to her side, sliding next to - and into her blood, gods, there’s so much - Yasha before coming to rest directly at her side. Her hand hovers over the barbarian’s side for only a moment before grabbing onto her and turning her onto her back.

Beau wishes she could go back and kill every single motherfucker here all over again.

Yasha is unconscious, body bloodied and bruised almost beyond recognition. There are lacerations and gashes littering her form, with blood dribbling from the newest addition, but that’s not the most alarming thing.

The worst thing, by far, is how utterly emaciated Yasha looks.

It’s clear that she hasn’t been fed in quite some time. While still large compared to most, Yasha looks sickly, cheekbones more prominent and eyes sunken in. Beau can see her ribs through her skin as she breathes shakily, dressed in a shoddy linen shirt and trousers. Dark circles that stand out like bruises remain under her eyes, further enunciating the neglect and abuse she went through. Her body screams of starvation and dehydration.

Beau forces the red in her vision down until she can think straight.

Beside her, Jester gasps in shock before throwing herself down to her knees and immediately pumping a healing spell into the battered barbarian. New wounds seal, but others remain as nasty, cruel scars. The world-weary expression and gait Yasha has doesn’t fade, but Beau knows it won’t until Yasha’s gotten her share of food and water for at least three weeks.

She stirs, however, eyebrows pinching down in discomfort as a weak groan, dry and crackling, works its way out of her throat. Jester produces a waterskin and pours a thin stream of water into Yasha’s mouth, wetting her dehydrated throat. The sensation of water brings Yasha into consciousness, and her eyes peel open with great effort.

Hazy, dark, and tired blue and violet eyes slowly shift from the roof to Jester, then to Beau. She blinks once, twice, then groans again, eyes sliding shut as she heaves another strained breath. Jester pats the barbarian’s head gently.

“It’s okay, Yasha.” She says with a big, fake smile. “You can rest now. We’ve got you.”

Beau isn’t sure if Yasha heard the cleric at all, but she seems to relax, lungs rattling with a second, slower sigh. Jester’s hand cards through matted, dirty locks softly. As she does, fat tears leak from her eyes, roll down her cheeks, and drip onto Yasha’s face. The tiefling bows her head and rests her forehead against Yasha’s.

“We’ve got you.” Her voice is choked, but is so, so sure. “We’ve got you.”

Beau swipes at her own tears, and doesn’t know if Jester’s comforting Yasha or herself.


	2. Tampering with Food/Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exactly what the name suggests. a fun prank goes awry.
> 
>  
> 
> check your labels kids.

“Whatcha got there, Nott?”

The goblin in question shrieks loudly and whirls around, crossbow in hand as she jumps back defensively. Jester, crouched down and grinning widely, watches her with an amused look, tail swishing behind her lazily. Nott lowers her weapon, exhaling heavily.

She tugs on her hood. “Why do you have to scare me like that every time?”

“Dunno.” Jester rocks on her heels. “It is pretty funny to see you jump that high.”

Nott glares slightly but instead of responding simply goes back to fiddling with her item. Jester notices and purses her lips in a soft pout.

“You never answered my question.” She says with a huff.

Nott, for her part, looks sheepish. “Oh, uh, sorry. What did you ask?”

The cleric shuffles closer. “I asked what is it that you have behind your back.”

The rogue looks confused for a moment, but then her sharp teeth flash in a sharper grin. “Oh, this?” she pulls out a tall, thin vial filled with some sort of purple powder. “I’m pretty sure this is a drug.”

“Oooooh!” Jester exclaims, taking it gently when Nott offers it. “Where did you find it? How do you know it’s drugs?”

Nott’s eyes gleam. “I took it off of one of those rich guys in the party we went to. You know, the one where we all had disguises and Caleb found forged letters and Fjord danced with the pretty elven woman?”

“I know Nott, I was there.” Jester says, though her tone is rather flat. Nott guesses she’s still sore over the topic of Fjord. She moves on quickly though, handing the vial back to the rogue. “Nott, are you sure this is a drug? It could just be grounded up butterflies or something.”

Nott crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m a rogue, Jester. I think I would know if something’s illegal or not. I know my drugs.”

“Okay,” Jester concedes, hands raised passively, “I believe you. You are a pretty good rogue.”

“Thank you.” Nott says, relaxes her posture.

“Sooo, what do you plan on doing with the drug?” Jester pries, ears twitching excitedly.

Nott hesitates, then shrugs. “I thought about doping Fjord or Caduceus.”

Jester gasps at that, leaning back as if Nott had slapped her. “Why?”

Nott fiddles with the vial again, watching as the powder slides from top to bottom as she rocks it. “I think it’d be pretty funny to see either of them high. Especially Caddy. Can you imagine him high as a kite?”

“Wellll, as funny as that could be, I don’t think you should mess with those two.” Jester admits. “Maybe Beau or Caleb?”

“I would never drug my Caleb!” Nott shrieks, clutching the vial to her chest. “How could you suggest something like that?”

Jester giggles. “Okay, okay, okay, so not Caleb. What about Beau? What do you think she’d be like high out of her mind?”

“I don’t think Beau would be funny.” Nott grumbles. “I mean, remember when her and Molly took those weird shrooms in Zadash? She was just loud.”

Jester considers her answer, tail swirling around. “Sooo that leaves Molly and Yasha. Or me and you.”

Nott’s ears perk up. “Oh, Yasha! I bet she’d be fun high!”

“Can you imagine her like that?” Jester muses, looking up as she strokes her chin in thought. “What if she’s like super happy and fun! Or she could be sad and weepy, which is not as fun.”

Nott hums. “I have the feeling she’s one of those people who looks super tough and intimidating sober, but when she’s drunk or high, she’s an absolute party animal.”

Jester springs up from her crouched position. “So it’s decided!” The cleric hides a laugh behind her hand. “Oh, I know! I’ll distract her while you put the drugs in her drink! That way it’ll be a super awesome surprise for everyone!”

She bounds away happily, Nott scuttling beside her as they head back to the tavern that the rest of the group is occupying. Jester chuckles to herself as she imagines Yasha, loopy and silly, asking for pastries and flowers and other fun things. Her fangs flash in a wide, cheeky smile. She pushes the door open to enter the tavern and spots the barbarian in an instant and grins.

This will be so much fun.

 

…

 

Yasha sighs into her tankard, taking a long drink of her ale as she leans back into her chair.

She sits alone at the bar, the others having retreated upstairs to decide rooming arrangements. She’s not good at money or decisions, so she opted to remain downstairs, nursing a strong ale. She sets her tankard down heavily on the bartop, and idly looks around the room.

It seems their group has earned a questionable reputation, as she is given a wide berth by everyone else in the establishment. Some peek at her over their shoulders while others whisper under their breath. Yasha merely gives them a mildly interested look before returning to her drink. She’s used to stares by now. Someone of her immense size and stature is a guarantee, no matter where she goes.

Yasha doesn’t really mind it, but it is a bit unnerving to know people are watching her back.

She takes another long drink.

The door to the tavern swings open, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Jester and Nott slips inside. Jester spots her and grins widely, waving as she skips over. Nott on the other hand slinks off into the shadows. Yasha doesn’t watch her go, more than used to the goblin sneaking around to avoid detection by those who see her as nothing more than a monster. Yasha turns slightly in her chair as Jester reaches her side.

“Heeeeeeey, Yasha! How’re you doing?” The tiefling sings, leaping into the seat next to her.

Yasha turns back to face the bar and averts her eyes, always nervous around the energetic Jester. “Ah, hello Jester. I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

Jester leans close, smiling ear to ear. Yasha furrows her brows, feeling like something’s off. The cleric wiggles in her seat and scoots even closer. Yasha awkwardly ducks her head.

“Did you, ah, did you need something?” She asks softly, staring holes into the bottom of her tankard.

Jester shrugs, tailing swishing behind her like a playful cat. “I mean, I thought you looked really lonely by yourself over here.” Her eyes flit to something behind Yasha. “So I thought to myself, ‘You know, Yasha could really use a friend. She doesn’t deserve to be all alone and sad-’”

“I’m not actually sad, though.”

“- so I came over to cheer you up!” Her eyes dart away again, and Yasha fights the urge to turn and see what she sees.

Yasha takes another long drink when Jester suddenly slaps her shoulder hard. Yasha chokes on her ale as Jester flails and points to something behind her.

“Yasha! Look at that over there Yasha! What is that?” She practically wails.

Yasha recovers from her initial shock and glances over to where Jester is pointing. She looks around wildly, trying to see what thing has spooked Jester this badly. Instead of a monster or thief or something of the like, she’s met with an average looking scene, with nothing out of the ordinary. She turns back around to shoot a confused look to Jester.

The cleric shrugs. “Oh, sorry, I guess I just thought I saw something super freaky.”

Yasha grunts and returns to her drink. Jester smiles sweetly. Yasha tips her tankard back and drains the last remnants of her ale, much in need of the strong drink as embarrassment for her near-choke suddenly rises up. She sets it down and grimaces. Maybe she hadn't noticed until now, but the drink has an odd aftertaste.

Yasha shakes her head, clearing her head. “I think - I think I’m going to, ah, go to bed.”

Jester bobs her head and smiles. “Oh, I’ll come with! I’m sure we’re both rooming with Beau anyway.”

She leaps off her stool and waits until Yasha joins her to begin heading upstairs. As they walk up the short flight of stairs, Yasha feels… well, she just feels weird to put it simply. The corners of her vision get cloudy and fuzzy, which is odd because she only had the one tankard of ale, which is definitely not enough to get her even slightly tipsy. 

As she reaches the final step, she falters, head suddenly feeling like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Jester shoots her a concerned look, but Yasha brushes her off and carries on, slowly and carefully. They both enter their room - Jester was right; they are rooming with Beau - and begin settling in for the night. Beau’s currently using the bathroom’s door frame to do pull-ups tirelessly, and only stops to let Jester in to wash off her make-up.

Yasha slides her greatsword off her back and lays it beside her designated bed. As she goes about taking her shawl off, another wave of lightheadedness slams into her, harder than before. She momentarily sways in place, eyes clenched shut as she forces the sudden white noise to die down.

A hand materializes on her lower back. “Yo, Yash, you okay?”

Yasha swallows thickly. Her throat feels like it’s swollen, but that can’t be right, she’s never had issues like this before. “Ah, yes. I am… I am fine.”

She feels rather than sees Beau to stand in front of her rather than be at her side. “You sure? You look kinda pale. I mean, paler than usual.”

Yasha sighs. “I think I just might’ve drunk too much. I’ll be fine.” She forces her eyes open and looks down at Beau, but immediately reels back in shock.

 _Beau is purple_.

Beau jumps at her surprised reaction. “What? What is it?”

Yasha sways in place, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. Just then, Jester exits from the bathroom, and Yasha openly gapes because the tiefling is _orange_. No, wait, she’s yellow now? Then red. Then green with pink spots.

Beau grabs her forearms and gives her a gentle shake. “Hey, Yasha, can you look at me?”

Slowly, her eyes shift to Beau, who is now blue with red stars and shaped like a puddle. Her form shakes and rolls like a wave, and Yasha fights desperately with sudden nausea. Beau curses under her breath and gently brings Yasha down to be at eye-level with her.

“Holy shit.” Beau says. “Yash, your eyes are like saucers or somethin’. They’re fuckin’ huge.”

Yasha opens her mouth and tries to say something, but instead, an incoherent mess of Common, Celestial, and Abyssal tumbles from her lips, startling the monk. She presses the back of her hand against her forehead and leaves it there for a moment. Yasha relishes in the cool temperature, eyes sliding shut unconsciously, before Beau takes it back and hisses another curse.

“Gods, you’re burnin’ up.” She says, now cupping Yasha’s face. Half of Beau’s face is yellow and the other half is green, and Yasha thinks those colors don’t go well together.

“Oh!” Jester exclaims, coming up besides Beau. She’s pink and purple and red with little white stripes. “What’s wrong, Yasha? Is she okay?”

“Dunno.” Beau says, short and simple and Yasha thinks she sounds like bricks being placed.

“Has she said anything funny? Done something silly? Anything crazy like that?” Jester asks, gesturing with her hand.

Beau looks at the tiefling oddly. “No...? Why would she?”

“Oh, nothing.” Jester turns away, tail curling by her ankles.

Beau releases her hold on Yasha and turns to face Jester fully, arms crossed. “...Did you have something to do with this?”

“Who, me?” Jester asks innocently, ears twitching. Beau remains staunchly in place, merely quirking an eyebrow. The tiefling slumps but grins widely.

“Okay, okay, hear me out. Me and Nott found drugs and thought how fun loopy Yasha would be, so we put some in her drink to test it. And look! Her eyes are huge!” She admits, coming closer to Yasha and taking her hand in her own two.

Beau starts at the admission. “You doped Yasha?”

“Well, technically, Nott did. I just agreed to help her.”

“Do you even know what that drug does? Is it safe?” Beau runs a hand through her top knot anxiously. “Holy fuck, what if you poisoned her?”

“I don’t think she’s poisoned.” Cool hands grabs her face and bring her even lower to be at face-level with a grinning, bright yellow Jester. “You’re not poisoned, are you?”

Yasha blinks languidly.

“See! I told you Beau, it’s fine.” She nuzzles Yasha’s cheek with her own, even as Beau grunts dismissively.

“Still think this is a bad idea.” She grumbles. Jester releases Yasha and comes up to bump Beau. Yasha watches her go idly, eyes lazily tracking the tiefling.

“If something does go wrong, I can just heal her. Don’t be a worry-wart, Beau.” Jester says, headbutting Beau’s shoulder softly. “You know I would never purposely hurt my friends.”

“Hm.” Is all Beau says. The monk is a startling blood-red, a stark change from the mellow blue she’d been previously. 

The color makes her eyes hurt, so Yasha looks at Jester. However, she’s the same angry red too, and the bright color makes her head pound. She looks around for another color desperately, but everything - the walls, the floor, the roof, the doors, the beds - are all the same red. She closes her eyes, but it’s like her eyelids are painted the same color, and instead of a soothing black, she’s confronted with a vivid red. She forces her eyes open, and watches as everything melts into one, hazy blob of red.

“I still don’t like this Jes. What if - holy shit! Yasha!”

Something cold runs down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto either the floor or herself. She can’t tell for sure since everything’s melded together. Her eyes twinge slightly, and Yasha rubs at them angrily.

Hands grab her cheeks again and pull her down, a little less gently this time. Her eyes sting and burn, and Yasha groans, forcing them shut.

“Sorry Yasha, but I need you to open your eyes for me, okay?” Beau’s voice sounds muffled and far away, as if Yasha’s somewhere deep underwater. The thought causes her to choke, then rapidly suck in air as the terrifying thought of drowning invades her thoughts. Instead of fresh, clean air, something thick and wet strangles her, and she rips herself away from Beau’s hand as her hands reach up and wrap around her own throat.

“Yasha!” Both Beau and Jester cry out, and Yasha gnashes her teeth, fingers tightening around her neck as she tries to force the thick substance out of her throat. More cool wetness drips from her oppositely burning eyes as she silently screams, hunching over. Two pair of hands grab her shoulders just as she punches herself in the stomach, trying to force herself to throw it up.

“Don’t hurt yourself-”

“Yasha, stop, please-”

Yasha grits her teeth and ignores them. She can’t hear them, all she can hear is the vibrations of their voices shaking the air around her. The shakes slam into her head, and her brain seizes as her eyeballs practically vibrate in her skull. She gasps as her legs give way, and her body crumples to the ground, seizing painfully as she still fights to breathe.

“Holy shit, I’m gonna get - fuck - get Cad! Or Caleb!”

Someone grabs her head just before she slams it into the ground as her back arches. Foam dribbles past the corners of her mouth as the door to their room slams. Arms encircle her torso and heave her up. Yasha just barely fights the urge to puke her guts out before they begin to move her. She forces her eyes open and is only met with a sheet of red that swims and shakes sickeningly, so she closes her eyes again and whimpers, clutching at her throat.

“Fuck, oh _Traveller_ , fuck. C’mon Yasha, we’re almost at the bathroom. _Fuck_.”

She’s led into a small room, and the feeling of suffocating and drowning multiplies. She weakly struggles with her aid, but either they’re too strong or she’s too weak, and they eventually force her to bend over something.

“Alright - alright, okay. Yasha, I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.”

She whimpers again, but the noise is cut off as something slams into the tender spot in her core just under her ribs. Immediately, something like a thick bubble bursts in her throat, and a torrent of something rushes past her throat and escapes her mouth, spilling into something in front of her as she vomits. She can’t make out what it is, since her vision is still a sick, swimming red, but she trusts the person dealing with her, so she doesn’t stop.

As the first wave dies down, Yasha greedily sucks in a large amount of air, gulping it down as she finally manages to breathe. She coughs and pants, still bent over. It doesn’t feel like all of the fluid is out, and she’s proven right when another wave of nausea strikes her and makes her gag and throw up again. The painful process repeats about three more times until finally, her throat doesn’t feel swollen and she can finally breathe normally.

The person with her leans her up against the wall in the room as they move about. Her hearing’s clearing up, along with her sight and the fog overwhelming her mind. The red recedes to the very edge of her vision, and she looks up slowly, so as not to induce another vomiting spell, to see Jester standing beside her. The tiefling looks like she’s sunken in on herself, and Yasha wants to say something, anything, but can’t still. Her tongue feels thick and too big for her mouth, and Yasha gets the feeling that if she tried to talk, she’d sound like a very young child.

Jester notices her more conscious look, and her ears perk before falling, along with her tail and her expression. Her lip quivers, and suddenly, tears are falling from her eyes at a rapid rate. She holds herself tightly as she cries silently in front of Yasha, who blinks slowly. She wants so desperately to comfort Jester - to tell her that it’s okay, she’s okay - but she can’t find the strength. She’s just so tired.

“I-I’m sorry, Yasha. I’m so, _so_ sorry.” Jester hiccups, and Yasha decides _fuck being tired_ , she can’t let Jester suffer like this. So, with much more strength than it should require, she lifts her arms and gives Jester the chance to sit with her. At the sight of her silent request, Jester’s face crumbles, and she dives into Yasha’s embrace, tucking herself into Yasha’s side as tightly as she can. Yasha’s arms fall limply around her, but hold her loosely, nonetheless.

Jester sniffs weakly and wipes at her eyes. “I didn’t - I didn’t know it would do that. I’m sorry, Yasha…”

Yasha tries to turn and look at her - to assure her she’s fine now - but she only succeeds in tipping her head back until it thuds against the wall behind her. Jester picks up on her body’s lack of strength and her hand presses against where she’d hit her, and a warm feeling spreads from her palm as she pours a healing spell into her body. Yasha hums slowly at the contact.

“Okay, okay, okay. Rest, Yasha. I promise we’ll talk when you wake up.”

Yasha wants to say no, wants to say that she forgives Jester.

Her eyes slide shut.


	3. Damaged Vocal Chords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> definitely inaccurate medical info here.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> throats are tender things.

“Yasha, watch your back!”

Despite it not being directed at him, Mollymauk turns at Beau’s alarmed cry just in time to see Yasha tackled to the ground by a tall, rather thick half-orc. The two titans struggle and roll around, battling for dominance, and as much as he wants to, Molly can’t aid his best friend quite yet. The swish of a sword just barely missing draws him back into his own duel with a thin, lithe elven woman wielding two rapiers.

He brings up one of his own two swords to parry another blow and the blades lock in place for a moment. Molly growls in frustration as he tries to free his scimitar, but is forced to bring up his second sword to catch the elf’s other blow. As they glare at one another, Molly hears a heavy impact behind him, and then hears Yasha snarl in pain.

He tries again to free himself, but the woman keeps in firmly in place. With a malicious grin, she sneers at him. “What’s the rush, handsome?”

Molly smirks back, not at all friendly. “Sorry, love, I just don’t have the time for this at the moment.”

“Oh?” She leans forward and Molly fights the urge to reel back. “And what if I give you something worth staying for?”

“As generous as that offer is,” Molly leans closer, “I’m afraid I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”

With that, he lurches forward, catching the elf by surprise, and slams his forehead into her’s. His skull, thick with the bones from his horns, takes no damage, but the woman steps back, obviously dazed and forehead bleeding from two identical, parallel gashes cut from the edges of Molly’s horns. As she stumbles, Molly wrenches his swords free, then surges forward. Without hesitation, he drives both blades into her sternum and pierces her through and through.

As she coughs up a mouthful of blood, Molly flashes her one of his signature sultry smiles. “I hope you know in a different life, I would’ve taken you up on your offer, darling.” He pulls his blades free and lets her body drop lifelessly to the dirt floor before turning and, without a single thought, racing to Yasha’s aid.

Now, she’s pinned to the floor by the half-orc, with his two meaty hands wrapped around her throat mercilessly tight, even as she claws and spits viciously. His mouth moves rapidly, spittle dripping onto Yasha’s face. As he nears, Molly can hear the burly man practically screaming at Yasha.

“-you should’ve died! But now, I’ll kill you with my own two hands, Orphanmaker!”

Yasha snarls furiously at the term, and Molly knows how much pain it causes his friend to hear that name. In retaliation, she manages to get her feet planted firmly on his chest and kicks and bucks wildly, sending him tumbling off of her. As she coughs and grabs for her throat, Molly makes it to her side.

She looks up at his approach, but instead of the relief he’d pictured, she looks terrified. “Molly! Stay back!”

He ignores her plea, too worried for her well-being, and crouches down next to her. He practically forces her to use his shoulder as support, helping her to her feet.

“Like hell I’m going to leave you. We can take him together, like the good old times.” Molly argues, turning to face the half-orc. Yasha shakes her head, but before she can respond, the half-orc rises to his feet and bellows angrily.

He charges forward, shoulders hunched, and rams into the two, faster than either of them can react. Molly tumbles to the ground and rolls, landing in a heap in front of a rock wall. As he stands on shaky legs, a hand wraps around his throat and yanks him off his feet.

“Stupid devil, getting into business that ain’t yours.” Molly kicks wildly. “This’ll teach you not to meddle in my affairs.”

The half-orc, without any strain, slams Molly into the rock wall behind him with enough force to crack the wall behind him. The half-orc releases him and lets him slide down the wall and onto the floor. A large rock that has been unlodged from the force of the impact tumbles free and lands heavily on his leg, trapping him in place and definitely breaking his ankle.

As Molly gasps for air, he hears Yasha howl, wild and raging. She charges the half-orc, undead wings flaring out behind her as she leaps towards him, snarling like a rabid animal.

“Don’t you touch him!”

The half-orc raises his arms, _catches Yasha midair_ , and slams her back into the ground. A spiderweb of crack sprout from the point of impact as the sheer power creates a small crater around the two. His knees pin her arms to the ground, and he sits on her torso again, even as Yasha thrashes.

His hands descend and clamp around Yasha’s throat again. “Little Celestial, weaving heavenly songs…” His thick hands clench like manacles as his dull eyes narrow.

“I’ll make sure you never sing again.”

Molly hisses in Infernal, trying desperately to free himself in order to save his friend. He claws his wrist furiously as his Bloodhunter magic takes effect. The half-orc’s eyes darken with crimson tears, but even with the sudden blindness he doesn’t stop tightening his hands, grip suffocating like a noose. A horrible gurgling sound emits from Yasha as her airway is slowly closed. Molly digs furrows in the ground as he tries to pull his way out from under the boulder. Unfortunately, he’s just not strong enough, and he can only flail uselessly as the half-orc chuckles darkly, long tusks flashing in a terrifying grin.

“Yasha!” Molly shrieks, red eyes wide in fear. “Yasha, hang on, please!”

Despite the formidable foe on top of her, Yasha’s eyes flick to him. The inky blackness that her Necrotic Shroud grants her slowly begins to bleed from her eyes, and her withered wings fade. Veins bulge in her forehead and saliva bubbles past her lips as she feebly tries to fight. She weakly batters the half-orc’s thick hands, but he’s unrelenting. In fact, her struggle only makes him grip tighter.

Molly’s eyes go wide as Yasha’s dull.

“ _Yasha!_ ”

Something _snaps_.

Molly screeches, loud, terrified, and Infernal as he howls his horror. _Her neck_ , he cries, _he broke her neck!_

The half-orc doesn’t release Yasha, but instead, bellows a victorious laugh that shakes his shoulders. He looks crazed - like a maniac, or a lunatic - as he leers at the prone form of Yasha. He leans forward and forces Yasha’s head up, to the point where their noses are nearly touching.

“How does it feel, Orphanmaker,” the half-orc barks, “to teeter on the cusp of life and death?”

He pushes Yasha back into the dirt and grinds her face into it. “Enjoy hell, Angel of Ir-”

A ray of flame slams into his back.

He’s thrown off of Yasha and into a nearby rock pillar. As he reels, another blast spirals towards him and penetrates his head. There’s a moment of silence before the half-orc wails in pain and his head _explodes_.

His gore rains down in a shower of red, and in an adrenaline spike, Molly finally shoves the boulder off of his leg and hobbles over to his fallen friend. He barely makes it to her side before collapsing in a heap, cursing at his shattered ankle. He pulls himself almost on top of Yasha as he cups her face in his shaking, scarred hands.

“Yasha?” He tries, voice quivering. “C’mon, Yasha. No, no, no, no, no. You can’t leave me!”

He bows his head until his forehead meets her’s. “I can’t - _I can’t_ -” His voice cuts off in a sob.

Yasha’s eyes open.

Molly jerks back before promptly bracing himself on her shoulders. Her eyes are wild for a moment, and she thrashes slightly, only to stop her struggle and curl in on herself, coughing and choking as her hands come to cradle her neck.

Before her hands cover it completely, Molly can see the angry lines already beginning to form ugly bruises, and the stomach-churning indents lining her windpipe. He pulls himself off of her and almost helps her sit up as she hacks, but he stops himself, because didn’t she break her neck?

Just as he begins to ask, Yasha looks at him and opens her mouth to speak. Instead of words however, a terrible, broken wheeze escapes her, and her eyes go wide in panic.

Without his help, she lurches forward, expression panicked. She opens and closes her mouth to form a sentence, but the sickening croak is all that comes out, and she chokes again. Molly deliberately pushes his way into her lap, forcing her to focus on him.

“Yasha.” He says slowly, fighting through his own panic. “Breathe.”

Her wild eyes dart around his face, trying to find something, and she nods, slow and stuttered. His ears twitch as they pick up on her whistling breaths. It’s now he realizes that the half-orc hadn’t snapped her _neck_.

He’d crushed her _vocal chords_.

Molly’s snapped out of his brief discovery as Yasha leans forward and buries her face in his shoulder, more heart-wrenching wheezes and croaks catch in her throat. He feels her shoulders shake as she wraps her arms around him, trying to ground herself. He throws his arms around her neck gently, pulling her closer.

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry.” He murmurs in broken Celestial. “Just rest.”

Yasha hiccups, but it sounds more like a shattered retch, and Molly fights down the invading thoughts of _emptyemptyemptyempty_ and breathes in deeply, encouraging Yasha to follow suite. She does, and they sit there in soft silence, only broken by the occasional wheeze from Yasha’s bent throat.

It’s only a little while later that she clears her throat - it sounds like the noise an animal makes before it takes its dying breath, and Molly tries really hard not to think about it - and opens her mouth again.

Molly sighs. “Yasha, don’t strain yourself, darling-”

“...H - _hur_ \- ts…”

Molly jerks back to look his friend in the eyes, and is mortified to discover Yasha’s popped some of the dented cartilage back into place. His grip on her shoulders tighten, and she winces as his claws dig in.

“Yasha, please,” He says, voice strained in panic because _what if she’s furthered the damage_ , “please don’t do this to yourself.”

She looks at him with a barely concealed pain. “...s-s - orr-ry…” She croaks weakly, sweat clinging to her forehead.

“I know it’s scary to not be able to talk, but trust me love, you need to stop or you’ll make it worse, and then you might not be able to talk again.” Molly says firmly, though it hurts to see her trying to communicate so hard, and how scared his friend is at the deprivation of speech.

Yasha reels away from him, eyes wide in fear, and he latches on. “N… _n-o_ …”

Molly opens his mouth to reprimand her. “Stop pushing yourself!”

He closes his mouth promptly and whirls around to face the speaker. Standing there, covered in blood that isn’t her own, is Jester. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she approaches them and playfully glowers at Yasha. Despite her firm tone, her smile is present and her tail curls around Yasha’s arm.

“Let me heal you first, dummy.” She admonishes, gently nudging Yasha’s hands away from her neck.

Yasha only stands her ground for a moment before letting her arms fall limply at her sides. Jester pats her cheek affectionately before placing her own hands gently on Yasha’s neck, purposefully heeding at her instinctive flinch, before letting her healing magic flow into the damaged tissue and cartilage. There’s a few gross snaps and pops, but the dents fade back into normalcy along with the accompanying bruises.

Jester pulls her hands back and claps them proudly. “There, see! All better!”

Molly wedges himself further into Yasha embrace, pressing one of his ears flush against her chest as Yasha tests her vocal chords.

“Uh, oh, thank - thank you, Jester.” She says slowly and softly, careful not to strain her neck accidentally. Molly takes great comfort in feeling her voice rumble soothingly through her throat and her chest like he’s used to hearing.

“Oh!” Jester exclaims suddenly. “Molly! Your foot is super fucked up!”

Both Molly and Yasha look towards the appendage in question and Molly shrugs, flopping in Yasha’s arms.

“Ah, well, you know. Can’t be helped.” He supplies. 

Jester tuts. “Stupid.”

“Fair enough.”

As she heals his swollen ankle, Molly feels Yasha tuck her face back into his shoulder. He rests his chin atop her head, taking advantage of their position and hums deep in his chest.

“We’ll be fine.” He says.

“Yeah,” Yasha murmurs. “Yeah, okay.”


	4. Falling Through The Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> winter is coming.
> 
>  
> 
> (being big has its advantages, but trying not to break a frozen lake? not one of them)

“Fuckin’ hate the cold.” Beau mumbles through clattering teeth.

She futilely tugs her thick, wool sweater - one that Jester has recently bought for her - closer over her body in hopes of trapping heat against the chilly howling winds. It only half works; her torso is warm enough, but she’s slapped in the face by another blast of freezing cold air. Beau spits out a mouthful of snow and curses bitterly.

They always got the worst jobs.

They’ve been sent out in order to eliminate a wandering herd of gnolls that have been terrorizing the nearby village. They were given the basic direction of where to go, assured that when they got there, they’d know. Which is fucking bullshit because they’ve been wandering for at least three hours in the cold.

“Gods, I _hate_ the cold.”

“We heard you already, unpleasant one.” Molly growls, shooting her an irked glance. “We’ve heard you the past _forty times_.”

Beau bristles. “Fuck you, it’s too fucking cold for this.”

Molly smirks, and Beau’s lip curls at the infuriating look on his face. Beau really wants to punch the smug look off of him. The tiefling chuckles and leans into his personal heater - aka Yasha - and hums.

“You’re cold? That’s funny, because I’m pleasantly warm.” He crows, waggling his eyebrows at Beau.

“Mollymauk,” Yasha chides gently, “leave it.”

He sighs but doesn’t retort back to the monk, who’s gracefully flipping him off. Yasha gives Beau a sympathetic look as an apology, and Beau softens almost immediately. The barbarian lifts one side of her heavy fur cloak - also courtesy of Jester - and silently offers her warmth to Beau.

“Oh, uh, thanks but, I’m - I’m good.” The monk stutters, sure that the heat radiating off of her face is warm enough.

Yasha eyes her hesitantly, but let's her cloak drop with a puff of displaced air. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, yep, totally.” Beau strides ahead to where Fjord and Caduceus are leading the party. “Came with the monk training, y’know? Extreme temperature intolerance n’ whatnot.”

She speed-walks to Fjord before Yasha has the time to answer. The half-orc is holding a crude map as he leads them, trying to valiantly find their way through the howling storm. She comes up to his side and peers at the map idly.

“How much farther?” she asks, subtly leaning into the nearest source of heat - Caduceus. For his part, the firbolg merely hums and lets her without bringing it up.

Fjord scratches the growing scruff on his chin. “Not too much further, I hope. Seems like we need t’ cross a lake er somethin’ first. Which is odd, ‘cause I’m not seein’ any bodies a’ water.” He looks up scans the area to double check.

Beau looks too and quirks a brow. “I don’t see shit. ‘Sides snow, obviously.”

“That’s what I thought too. Maybe ’s not as close t’ the gnoll cave as they thought?” Fjord guesses looking from the map to where the guard had marked the cave.

“Probably.” Beau shakes snow off of her gloves. “If they said our walk to the cave was only s’posed to be a couple a’ minutes, then they’re probably wrong about the lake.”

“Mm.”

They continue marching forward, defiantly against the bitter winds and blinding snow. Beau uses her general anger at the storm as fuel to keep pushing on, clutching her coat tighter and tighter. She uses Fjord as an unwilling human buffer from the onslaught of scattering snowflakes so she can see and scan their surroundings for any sign of the cave, or for anything other than the thick cover of snow blanketing everything. 

As they struggle to keep pushing, Jester and Yasha seem largely unaffected by the merciless icy temperature. Jester even begins to playful ice skate around the group as the trudge on, laughing merrily the whole time. Nott tries to join her, but she needs the assistance of a stick in order to keep her balance. 

Jester tries her best to teach Nott, but the goblin’s scrawny legs shake like a newborn fawn’s, and she keeps slipping. At one point, she falls hard enough that she faceplants into the snow with her stick, but as she sinks into white powder, her stick remains ramrod straight,

And it catches on solid ground.

Something cracks.

Immediately, the party halts, unsure of the sound or its origin. Nott stumbles to her feet and tugs at her stick, but it remains firmly lodged in place. However, with one strong tug, she yanks it free, and she turns to show the rest her victory, only for her celebration to be cut off by a stronger, louder crack.

The ground beneath them shifts.

“Uh, Fjord?” Beau murmurs, as if scared her voice could further the damage if loud enough. “Where - where did you say the lake was again?”

The half-orc swallows thickly as beads of sweat freeze to his forehead. “Uh, if I’m right, we’re… uh oh.”

“Uh oh? _What do you mean_ , ‘uh oh’?!” Nott shrieks.

Well,” Fjord tugs at his collar. “uh oh means we’re right on top a’ the lake.”

There’s a moment of panicked silence only permeated by Nott infuriated, “What?!”

“This is quite the problem.” Caduceus supplies helpfully, only to garner exasperated looks from everyone.

He remedies his obvious statement. “We’re just going to have to cross slowly, one at a time. Nice and gentle.”

Jester’s tail thrashes anxiously. “Who goes first-”

Nott streaks away.

As everyone shouts in surprise, the goblin scuttles across the ice and doesn’t stop until she nearly slams face-first into a tree. Without any hesitation, she scrambles up it until she’s perched on a branch about ten feet off of the ground.

“All clear!” She cries, hugging the trunk.

Everyone exchanges uncertain glances before, after a small internal debate, Jester takes off too. She’s not as quick as Nott, but she makes it as well, with only a small crack echoing during her sprint. Jester makes it to Nott’s tree and laughs breathlessly.

Immediately after seeing both of their successes, both Fjord and Caduceus follow in pursuit, but while Fjord sprints as fast as he can, Caduceus walks calmly, staff clacking against the apparent layer of ice underneath his feet. They make it as well, and with Caduceus’ slow-going, the snow has been shoved aside to reveal a layer of thin, cracking ice.

Yasha urges the remaining three - Caleb, Mollymauk, and Beau - to go first. “I’m very big,” she says quietly, “I might break it.”

Molly trusts her judgement and takes off after a silent exchange of glances. Beau and Caleb hesitate; Beau in worry for Yasha and Caleb for testing his boots’ traction. Beau slowly turns and follows Molly, but as she just begins to sprint, she hears Caleb inhale sharply and something colliding with the icy floor.

She whirls around just in time to see Caleb trip and tumble onto the ice, and Beau feels fear colder than the snow around them bite into her heart as she watches with baited breath. The air is silent. Until-

_Crack!_

The ice around Caleb and Yasha splinters and shatters, ice and water exploding around them. Beau spins on her heel and tries to race to their side, but her shoes have little friction and she falls to her knees.

Beau looks up as Yasha, eyes hardening, grabs Caleb, throws him over her shoulder and takes off. Her long, powerful strides nearly make it to Beau, racing against the ice crumbling beneath her feet. About twenty feet from the monk, however, Yasha takes a step and immediately sinks up to her knee in the frigid water.

Her eyes flash wildly as she struggles valiantly to pull herself and Caleb back out, but she must realize her attempt is in vain, and her eyes narrow in determination. With a mighty bellow, she heaves Caleb off her shoulder and tosses the wizard like he weighs nothing. He tumbles again and slides across the smooth part of the ice until he comes to rest, about ten feet away from the others.

Beau scrambles across the ice, ignoring the biting cold, and reaches out for Yasha desperately. Yasha sees her hand outstretched and tries to fight her way out of the hole she’s slowly sliding into.

“Yasha!” Beau cries out, still crawling across the frozen lake. Yasha locks eyes with her.

Beau’s eyes go wide.

Yasha’s foot slips, and the barbarian disappears into the dark, murky water.

Beau finally reaches where she’d fell and tries peering through the water, but the constant shifting and breaking of ice blocks view as chunks float in her way. Beau angrily tosses them onto the surface of the lake and looks again. The water is dark, almost pitch-black, and Beau curses and swears and spits defiantly because Yasha is gone and she can’t find her.

She rips her coat off furiously and prepares to dive in after her, but strong hands grab her shoulders and pull her away from the hole in the ice.

“Lemme go!” Beau snarls, thrashing. “Lemme go, dammit!”

“Beau, I can’t. If you fall in then both of you will be stuck.” Jester argues, pulling her further and further from the hole.

Beau’s finger scrabble uselessly against the ice as she fights for traction. Finally, she manages to worm her way from Jester’s grasp and sprints back towards the hole’s general direction, but as she gets halfway to the hole, the ground beneath her thumps.

She pauses and glances down, only to meet the terrified multi-colored eyes of Yasha, pounding frantically at the ice trapping her. The current is slowly dragging her away, and she tries desperately to cling to something. Beau finds her balance and pulls her arm back and slams her first into the ice directly below her. Her knuckles split open almost immediately, but she doesn’t stop, even as the ice is dyed a bright crimson.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Beau snarls, eyes flaring in terror.

Yasha cocks her own arm back to swing and Beau leans away, so as not to be decked in the face. The barbarian sends her fist careening towards the ice.

And she _misses_.

Whatever current is lurking beneath the ice, it’s strong enough to pull Yasha down just as she swings. Yasha tries to flail and bring herself back up, but her limbs are locking in place, body slowly succumbing to the extreme cold. Not only that, but her new cloak, having absorbed a substantial amount of water, must weigh a ton. It must be some sort of cruel irony - the thing she used to protect herself from the cold is slowly dragging her to an icy grave.

Beau slams her fist into the ice, but there is almost no strength in the blow. Her knuckles ache and her cuts sting and Beau can do nothing but try and scream at the ice until it shatters.

It doesn’t, but as Yasha continues to sink, she can feel her heart shatter.

“ _Goddammit!_ ” Beau howls. “No, no, no, no!”

She pulls her bloody hand back in preparation for one final blow but before she has the chance to connect, the ice before her explodes.

The new hole is wider than the one that swallowed up Yasha, and from beside her, Jester shakes out her hand, cursing mildly in Infernal at the sting. From her other side, Caleb mutters shakily to himself, and a glowing, arcane cat’s paw dives into the water after Yasha. It disappears into the same darkness that engulfed Yasha, and Beau is forced to wait an excruciatingly long time for any sign of contact.

Caleb inhales sharply, and the ice a few feet away from them erupts into a shower of ice and water.

And held about five feet in the air, limp as a ragdoll, is Yasha.

“Get her to shore!” Jester orders, and with a silent command from Caleb, the claw surges forward and dashes to the shore. Immediately following it are Beau, Jester, and Caleb, with Beau lunging forward and taking the lead. Yasha’s body is taken by both Caduceus and Molly from the Cat’s Paw just as the other three make it back to shore. Behind them, the ice continues to splinter and crack, but it’s all just white noise compared to the scene in front of them.

Beau drops down beside the unconscious barbarian and is immediately distressed at the sight before her.

Yasha’s body is completely still, which Beau assumes is very bad, because shouldn’t she be shivering? Her lips and fingers are a frightening shade of blue and immediately, Molly and Jester huddle next to her, their Infernal bloodline making them walking hot water bottles and essential to warming Yasha back up.

Caduceus rips off her cloak and tosses it away. As he does, Fjord takes over and begins performing CPR on Yasha, who has yet to take a breath. His expertise as a sailor shows(Beau hates the implication that he’s dealt with enough people who’ve drowned to have this kind of experience), and he only has to go through one round before Yasha jerks upward, coughing up water as she inhales as much air as she can. Her limbs still refuse to move, and Beau wraps her coat around Yasha’s hands, trying to warm them up and regain their feeling.

Yasha stirs, but her eyes don’t open. Her arms are still firmly locked in place, but are slowly loosening as Molly and Jester’s high inner temperature work through her body. Nott, hardly as warm as the tieflings, curls up on top of Yasha’s chest; a small huddled ball balanced precariously on the heaving aasimar as she too tries to get her temperature up.

Yasha’s arms finally twitch upwards, but as she tries to pull herself up, Caduceus gently lays a large, soft hand on her chest just above Nott and pushes her back down.

“Easy now,” He says, voice it’s soft and soothing throaty rumble, “just take it easy, Miss Yasha. We need to get you warmed up.”

Her eyes finally open, and Beau hates how her normally bright eyes are drearily dull. She blinks lethargically but rests her head back at his gentle command. She doesn’t go unconscious again, but she slips into a state of unresponsive quiet, eyes half-mast and mouth partially open. Caduceus hums, not pleased with her sudden change.

“Mister Fjord, can you search for a cave or tunnel or something of the like? I feel like keeping Miss Yasha out here in her current condition can’t be doing her any good.” Caduceus asks calmly, turning to the half-orc.

Fjord straightens up before nodding once, eyes serious, before turning and jogging away. As he does, Jester speaks up.

“You guys,” she says softly, voice just tinged with a hint of anxiety, “Yasha’s still not shivering.”

“ _Scheisse_.” Caleb curses in Zemnian before tugging on his glove. In front of him, a small but strong fire springs up from the ground. “It - it won’t do much but maybe it will help for now, at least.”

Caduceus hums again, this time pleasantly impressed. “That’s very good, Mister Caleb.” He praises. Caleb ducks his head.

Fjord comes jogging back at that time. He takes a series of quick pants before addressing them all. “Found a cave back there. Ain’t too far, maybe jus’ about a minute er two.”

“Good.” Jester slowly tugs Yasha to her feet, but has to take a majority of her weight as the barbarian’s stiff legs refuse to move. “It’ll be warmer out of the snow, and then we can get Yasha properly toasted.”

“Here, lemme help, Jessie.” Beau says suddenly, taking her chance to be useful for something.

Jester obliges and lets the monk take Yasha’s other arm over her shoulder. As Yasha’s weight settles, Beau lets out a sharp exhale. Damn, she forgot that with all those impressive muscles, Yasha is much heavier than most. Beau, however, refuses to show weakness, and so she trudges forward with Jester’s assistance, led on by Fjord. Molly follows closely behind, pressed up as much as he can be while they move.

It takes about two minutes to reach the cave, and the group hurries in swiftly. Yasha is laid down on top of her cloak, which Caleb had set near their earlier fire to dry off. Molly, Jester, and Nott all return to their previous spots curled up with Yasha as the wizard lights another, stronger fire close by.

Beau flops down near Yasha and close to the fire, cradling her bloodied knuckles close to her chest defensively. As she tries to crudely wrap them without anyone noticing, Caduceus settles down beside her with a gentle huff. He notices her attempt at caring for her wounds, and sighs, taking her hand in his much larger one.

“You were very brave today, Miss Beau.” He says as he delicately heals her bleeding cuts. “Not many people would be willing to dive into freezing waters for a friend.”

Beau glowers and looks away. “I didn’t do shit. I wasn’t even the one who rescued her.” Her newly healed hand clenches into a fist as her eyes suddenly burn hot with tears.

“I was useless.”

( _Useless_ , her father barked, sending her out of his study. _Useless_ , her mother said, shooing her away from her garden. Useless, useless, _useless_ -)

“Nonsense.” Caduceus’ softly furred hand covers her fist and the welling bubble of panic wedging itself deep in her throat subsides. “You are many things, Miss Beau. Useless is not one of them.”

Beau closes her eyes and wishes she believed him.


	5. Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yasha, like us all, just wants to protecc the smol. 
> 
> and she does. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> but at a price.

“Oh, fuck!”

Yasha whirls to look at Nott, who fires off two crossbolts at the swarming bugbears. Even in her rage, Yasha knows this battle is wearing them down.

The two of them had been separated from the others and were currently being stalked by the resident pack of bugbears who lived in the mines they’d gone in to investigate a string a missing people. As a rusted glaive bites into her shoulder, Yasha thinks she knows what happened to the ‘missing’ people.

Her blade carves down the bugbear who’d managed to get a swipe on her but where one falls, another two rise to take its place. Yasha snarls her challenge, even as her body tires. She knows well enough that her rage won’t end until she’s unconscious, but that doesn’t guarantee victory, and she knows that no matter what, she needs to get Nott out of here alive.

The goblin is currently hiding behind Yasha’s legs, firing off her crossbow when a bugbear manages to dodge Yasha’s strikes or simply gets too close for comfort. Nott is running low on ammunition, and they both know it. The bugbears seem to know as well, as they keep charging her to make her waste her ammo faster.

Yasha can hear them lick their teeth hungrily, primal needs coming out in a savage way.

That’s fine with Yasha. She can be just as savage.

Magician’s Judge cleaves another bugbear is half, spraying its blood and guts everywhere and she forces herself to grin, all sharp teeth and no hints of friendliness. The bugbears hesitate, but their feral instincts win out over their fear, and they swarm again, barreling down on the two fighters.

A bugbear manages to grab onto Yasha’s wrists and bellow in her face, and she snarls right back, both combatants bristling with uncut fury. The bugbear shoves her back forcefully and charges again, and this time, Yasha simply sidesteps it. The creature goes flying by her and suddenly drops out of sight. It’s now that Yasha realizes their strategy.

They’ve been corralling them to an edge to force them to give up.

Yasha stomps forward, eyes narrowed and fangs bared.

She won’t give up.

Yasha nearly charges back into the fray, but the tiny figure huddled behind her legs makes her hesitate. Nott fires her crossbow, but curses in Goblin as her crossbow fires off a blank, out of ammo. Yasha hesitates, boots on the edge of the drop and bugbears closing in. In that moment, Yasha makes a choice.

Without hesitation, she sheathes her sword, scoops Nott into her arms, and leaps backwards off the cliff.

The bugbears’ snarls of frustration and confusion are drowned out by Nott’s terrified shrieks, and Yasha can only think of when she’d first heard Caleb describe his relationship with Nott, and how he didn’t know what he’d do without the rogue by his side, and Yasha curls herself tighter around the squirming goblin.

As they fall, Yasha collides several times with the jagged edges of the walls surrounding them. One time is nearly bad enough to dislodge Nott, but Yasha wills her rage to keep her strength up and clutches to Nott as tight as possible, despite her small squeaks of pain. Yasha closes her eyes and grits her teeth. She summons her wings for some sort of extra cover and forces the withered, skeletal appendages to curl around them both, cradling them like a mother would a child.

As the ground rushes up to meet her, Yasha prays to the Stormlord for Nott to see this through.

She collides heavily with the ground, and as the wind is knocked cleanly from her lungs, something large, wide, and sharp impales her. Her sight is obscured by the sudden burst of blood following the force of the impact and as she seizes, Nott tumbling free from her arms as they curl up unconsciously.

Her vision is immediately hot and _whitewhitewhite-_

Yasha sucks in a shaky breath and sees stars as a wave of an untold amount of agony slams into her. Her gasp wanes into a feeble groan as her hands twitch violently by her sides. Her next ragged breath is interrupted by a familiar copper taste as blood bubbles up past her clenched teeth. She forces her eyes shut as she tries to manage the pain, calling out to her rage-

Another wave of pain slams into her chest, and Yasha rams her head into the ground to force herself to focus on something else.

Her ragged, wet gasps echo in the small circular area as Nott groans, rising up from where she’d been sent sprawling from the force of impact. She clutches at a bleeding spot on her brow, and strangely enough, Yasha’s scattered mind focuses on the fact that she’ll have a nasty scar if she doesn’t clean the wound properly.

“Ugh,” Nott says through clenched teeth, “I think I’m gonna be sick… Yasha-?”

The goblin slowly looks towards Yasha, and her terrified screech makes Yasha’s ears ring painfully. She skids to her side and hovers awkwardly, eyes wide in fear.

Nott prods her shoulder, trying to keep her conscious. “Yasha! Yasha, I don’t mean to alarm you, but you have a _really_ big, _really_ bloody crystal sticking out of you!”

Yasha, who at this point had not looked at the extent of her wound, forces herself to look up at Nott’s alarmed cry. Her eyes, despite her vision slowly fogging over, lock onto something big, purple, and glowing, and promptly go wide. Yasha breathes heavily through gritted teeth as she focuses on the immense crystal impaling her through her gut. As she examines it, she notices that it’s not purple it all. Its original color is blue.

It’s her _blood_ that’s dyed it purple.

Yasha lets her head thunk back against the stone floor as her vision swims. Nott appears over her face, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Yasha, you can’t fall asleep now! If you do, you might not wake up again.”

“I…” Yasha forces the words past her ragged breaths and blood-slicked throat. “I know… Nott… I’m gonna need your… your help to get… up…”

Nott hesitates, and Yasha’s lip curls as a new wave of pain crashes into her, momentarily knocking her senseless. “Isn’t there something about not removing the thing that stabbed you?”

“ _Nott_.” Yasha grounds out, “This… cannot wait… we need to find… find the…” Her vision begins to darken and she blinks rapidly to avoid slipping into unconsciousness. “...find the others…”

Nott bites her lip and Yasha continues desperately. “Look… you just have to… grab my arm and… and pull… I’ll do the rest…”

“If-” Nott latches onto one of her hands. “-if you’re sure.”

Yasha fixes her with a look tinged with finality, eyes steely and sure. Nott nods, eyes not as sure, and her grip tightens as she pulls on Yasha’s hand-

Yasha’s eyes roll back in her head so violently, she wonders if they’d rolled out of her skull.

She forces her rage to burn the pain into power, and she manages to pull herself up and off of the crystal. The release creates an awful, squelching noise as flesh and tissue are pulled off and freed from the pressure of the large gem. Immediately, she sways and nearly tips forward onto Nott, but the goblin surprisingly manages to hold her up, despite their immense size difference.

“You said you were sure you wanted me to free you.” Nott says. “Now prove it to me. We gotta go.”

Yasha nods along dumbly with her words and places a hand to stem the blood flow as she tries to pull herself to her feet. She pauses however as her hand finds a gaping hole in her side, and feels stringy bits of tissue and torn organs leaking out from behind her fingers.

Yasha’s never been too squeamish before, but the thought of her innards escaping her grasp and flopping to the floor makes her stomach rebel fiercely.

An _urp_ escapes her, and she leans away from Nott to swiftly puke her guts out(she hopes the term isn’t literal in her case) on a smattering of rocks and gems decorating the floor. She soon decorates _them_ with a fine layer of thick, dark bile that’s way too bloody to be good. As she spits out a thick wad of a mix of saliva and blood, she feels her innards shift between her fingers, and nearly vomits again, but she manages to swallow the rising wad of bloody bile and instead retches.

“Oh gods, this isn’t good.” Nott whispers, and Yasha almost laughs at the statement.

Instead, she looks up blearily at the goblin, who’s skin is a much sicklier tone of green than earlier. She casts a sympathetic gaze towards the goblin. If she’d seen someone hack up a good portion of blood while trying to keep their guts in, she’d be pretty close to throwing up as well.

“Let’s… let’s go, Nott.” Yasha says past a mouthful of blood.

Nott eyes her incredulously as she slowly pulls herself to her feet - if she nearly passes out twice in the process, Nott doesn’t mention it - and leans heavily against the stone wall. Her blood begins oozing faster now, and it quickly streaks down the wall she leans on, spreading an enormous gorey smear as she forces her feet to move. Apparently, they didn’t have the worst luck, since the drop opened up into a narrow path.

Yasha limps down the path, gait staggered and wobbly. Beside her, Nott has no trouble keeping up with the wounded aasimar and even has to slow down a few times to let Yasha catch up. She manages to keep herself upright for a majority of the trip, until they have to vault over a thick crystal jutting across the floor of the cavern. Nott easily makes the jump but as Yasha swings one leg over, the other gives out, and she crumples to the floor in a heap, coughing up blood.

“Yasha!” Nott cries out, running over to her fallen comrade.

Yasha peels her eyes open and watches her run to her aid. She doesn’t see Nott. Instead, she sees four wobbling green silhouettes dancing in and out of her darkening vision. She tries to say something, to tell Nott to keep going, but all that comes out is a wet gurgle and a wad of blood.

Tiny hands press into her grisly wound, and the darkness crowding the corners of her vision immediately brightens into a painful white. She hisses and shifts, but Nott chides her like a mother would discipline her child.

“Stop moving.” She says, voice tight. “You’re only making it worse. We can’t go much further if you bleed out first.”

Yasha stops wriggling at that.

Her wet, rattling breaths echo softly throughout the dimly lit cavern, and Yasha feels her consciousness begin to slip. Her wound doesn’t even throb anymore. A small part of her warns that that isn’t a good thing, but the majority of her mind is numb to all thoughts, only wanting to sink into the beckoning darkness.

“Yasha? Yasha, can you hear me?” A voice says, far, far, far away.

Yasha tries not to ignore the voice. But she just wants to sleep.

“Yasha!”

She needs to stay awake - she needs to protect Nott.

She’s so tired.

…

Yasha wakes up slowly.

When her eyes open again, it’s to darkness, and she jerks up, now fully awake as she wonders if she and Nott are still trapped in the underground cave. Her torso ignites in furious pain, and Yasha hisses. She presses a hand to her eyes and rubs, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes before glancing around, letting her eyes adjust.

The first thing she notices is that they’re outside.

The reason it’s so dark is because it is well into the night, with stars shining brightly above and the moon hanging above her head, as hooked as one of Molly’s swords. She glances at the sky, idly searching for clouds. She catches the grey shadow of storm clouds slowly drifting away, and in a distant flash of lightning, Yasha swears she sees eyes illuminate in the clouds, but the lightning fades, as do the pair of eyes. Quietly, Yasha whispers a prayer of thanks to the Stormlord.

She presses a hand to her stomach, and instead of being met with untold amounts of gore and lacerated tissue that fell away with a touch, her fingers meet thick wads of bandages swathed around her middle in thick layers. As she fingers where the wound last was, something stirs on her chest, and she only just realizes now that this whole time, Nott has been curled up asleep on her chest.

She stirs awake and yawns widely, exposing needle-sharp teeth. “Hm?”

Yasha gently sets her large hand on top of the goblin’s tiny head, smiling when she relaxes into the touch. She ruffles her hair gently, and instead of a usual Nott reaction - she’d swat the hand away and hiss, backing up until she felt she was at a safe distance - she butts her head further into Yasha’s hand. Yasha is missing time, but she gets an idea of the circumstances and what happened while she was out.

“Thank you, Nott.” she murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to the sleepy goblin’s head. “You certainly proved yourself to be Nott the Brave.”

Nott just smiles in her sleep.


	6. Buried in Rubble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why do people think it's a good idea to have a hideout underground?
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> like, seriously, does anyone care about the hazards?

As Magician’s Judge cleaves a cloaked man in two, Yasha decides this is a terrible place for a secret hideout.

The rocky ceiling above her rattles again, and she’s coated in a fine layer of dust as the impact of spells shake the interior of the cave. Yasha looks around for the source, and sees the head of the cultist group, an elven warlock, aim another spell towards the roof. 

For a moment, Yasha is confused - why is he trying to cave in the unstable tunnel? Her question is answered as a boulder knocked loose from the force lands heavily, crushing two of his own men and narrowly missing Beauregard, and Yasha realizes he doesn’t intend on escaping.

He intends on taking everyone with him.

Yasha rages, storming through the crowd of spellcasters - swiping at a few angrily as she goes - towards the warlock, determined to stop him. However, just as she get within ten feet of him, a particularly stubborn cultist latches onto her back and yanks her away, screaming in Abyssal.

“Devil!” He shrieks in her ear. “I won’t let your filthy hands touch our Savior!”

Yasha doesn’t have time for this.

“Motherfucker, let me go!” Yasha snarls back in Abyssal. She reaches behind her, curls her fingers around the man’s hood, and yanks him off of her. She doesn’t release him then, instead she brings him forward and slams him into the ground before her with enough power to instantly snap his spine. As she steps over his fallen form, her eyes catch the warlock beginning to cast another spell. With the current condition of the cavern, Yasha knows if this one connects, it will cave in.

Yasha charges again, her greatsword held high over her head as she bellows. She brings it down, but instead of flesh falling under her blade, Magician’s Judge slams into a green barrier of arcane energy erected around the elf. He smiles widely at her obvious fury and continues to conjure another ball of magic.

“Don’t you dare-” Yasha thunders, pushing on her sword. His wicked smile grows.

Desperately, she forces the magic imbued deep in her blade to ignite, shattering the shield with a deft blow. The sword slams into the warlock’s shoulder just as he finishes his muttering. Instead of the usual fear or pain her weapon causes, the warlock cackles maniacally, eyes wide with malicious glee.

The spell spirals towards the ceiling.

As a last-ditch effort, Yasha desperately tries to parry the blow with her sword, but the spell simply weaves around it in sickly green bolts. The spell explodes against the roof, and a deep, guttural rumbling rises up from the earth around them.

The warlock cackles even louder, hands held out in front of him as he slips in a fit of insane laughter. Yasha whirls around, and without a second thought, drives Magician’s Judge into his chest mercilessly. His chest cavity caves in and erupts in a shower of crimson that coats Yasha. His infuriating laugh bounces around the inside of her skull as the ground beneath her rocks violently. Her eyes go wide as she turns to the rest of her group.

She sucks in a large breath before bellowing out a single, panicked word:

“ _RUN!_ ”

The others, startled by her thunderous roar, immediately take off without any hesitation, trusting her judgement. She races after them, sheathing her sword as the red in her vision thrums with adrenaline. Her long, powerful strides quickly catch her up with the others as they book it to the cave’s entrance.

Large rocks rain from the ceiling, and more than once members of the party have to dodge and roll out of their paths. An especially large chunk of stone nearly takes off Fjord’s head as he ducks just in the nick of time. The assault isn’t contained to above them though, as huge, gaping cracks erupt from beneath their feet, nearly swallowing them up on a few occasions. They don’t stop however, they keep pushing until the first rays of sunlight begin to filter past the chaos.

Until Jester’s boot gets lodged.

The tiefling immediately cries out in panic as her shoe is swallowed up by a narrow crack. As much as she struggles and pulls, it remains firmly in place, and her bright blue eyes well up with tears.

Yasha’s gaze steels.

The cleric is only about thirty feet behind her, and everyone else is too far ahead, and so Yasha forces her legs to kick faster as she whirls around and sprints for Jester. She ignores the cries of her friends, ignores the groans of the ceiling above, and ignores the chance that they both might not make it. Instead, she focuses solely on the rage burning in her heart, seeping in her bones, igniting her veins.

Yasha reaches Jester and shoves her large hands into the crack. She grits her teeth and pulls, plowing her hands through the rough terrain as it falls beneath her strength. Jester tugs herself free and grabs at her bloodied ankle, face pinched in pain. Yasha curses and scoops her up in her arms and takes off again. They’re nearly there - only about forty or so feet from the exit where the others stand-

The rest of the ceiling gives.

A hail of rocks and boulders descend on them, and Yasha swears loudly in Abyssal. In her arms, Jester tucks her face in and stifles a sob, and it’s there and then that Yasha decides fuck it and races forward despite the inevitable collapse of rocks.

The boulders are about fifteen feet from her.

The others are ten.

Yasha forces the last dregs of her rage to surge through her body as she releases Jester from her hold, shoving her forward desperately. She lunges forward, using all of the power in her momentum to send Jester safely into Fjord’s arms and goes to follow-

Yasha stumbles.

Her field of vision is immediately obscured by the falling stones and she looses her footing, the bucking earth under her feet sending her launching backwards. Midair, she looks for her friends. Midair, she sees their terrified faces.

Midair, the earth swallows her up.

…

“ _No!_ ”

Jester flings herself towards the pile of loose dirt and boulders and begins furiously clawing it away. Her strength allows her to uproot massive boulders and other heavy stones as she digs frantically. If only her strength had been there earlier, then Yasha wouldn’t be stuck under the ground, possibly dead, in lots of pain, maybe broken in two-

Hands descend onto her shoulders, and Jester only realizes now that her lungs are catching on sobs as she teeters on the brink of a full-blown panic attack.

Caduceus’ familiar face fills up her vision as he touches his forehead gently to her’s. He hums softly in his throat as he breathes calmly - in, and out. He looks at her and encourages her to do the same, and she tries to, but while his breaths are deep and controlled, her’s are wild and jerky. Caduceus lets her ride out the wave of panic at her own pace, simply breathing and rubbing her arms comfortingly. Eventually, she manages to calm herself down enough to wipe at her eyes.

Caduceus pulls back, but doesn’t relinquish his hold on her. “You alright now?”

She nods and sniffs. He rumbles in a pleased tone and gets up, helping her to her feet as well. As she blinks remaining tears away, Jester notices that the others have all begun digging away at the rubble. Caleb is doing the quickest work - his cat’s paw scooping away large amounts of dirt quickly.

“Caduceus?” Jester asks softly. “Don’t you have a spell that can move dirt?”

“Mm.” The firbolg calmly lumbers forward until he’s directly in front of the pile, and holds out a single hand. The dirt shifts and rumbles, and starts dividing itself perfectly down the middle, coming away with little friction. As he does, Jester summons her lollipop and tries using it as a shovel alongside Caleb’s paw.

It takes a while to make a real dent in the rubble, and even then, there’s no sign of Yasha. Jester can feel her hope dwindle, and she fights down the traitorous thought that the barbarian has perished along with all the cultists. Yasha’s too strong to be taken down by a little dirt, Jester tries to assure herself.

(Except for the fact that this is not a little bit of dirt. It’s heavy enough to have crushed Yasha’s lungs, suffocating her to death or breaking her spine-)

“Hey!” Beau shouts, pausing in her digging. “I think I found her!” The others all come to her side quickly, and sure enough, Beau’s found something. 

A pale hand, sticking out of the mound of rubble, dirty and bruised.

Immediately, their extraction continues. This time, they’re much more gentle about pulling away the rubble, as any wrong move could cause the rest of the debris to collapse on top of Yasha all over again. Eventually though, they unearth her entirely, and Jester can feel the tear return full force.

Yasha’s right shoulder and forearm are both decorated with thin, jagged stalagmites that jutt out of her skin. None of them are immediately life-threatening, but that doesn’t mean they don’t look painful. No, the thing that immediately catches everyone’s eyes are her legs and lower torso.

They are _absolutely broken_.

They’ve both been smashed to shit, as if they were full of cotton rather than flesh. It doesn’t even look like there’s anything akin to bones left in tact from her stomach down. Her bottom half has been flattened out by the immense pressure of the rubble, and she doesn’t draw breath. That makes Jester’s heart drop to her stomach in pure, unadulterated fear.

“O-oh,” Jester drops limply beside Yasha’s dusty, unmoving form, “oh Traveller, _no_ …”

As she numbly places a delicate hand on one of Yasha’s shoulder blades, she hears Beau swear and Fjord suck in a sharp breath. Caduceus drops down on the opposite side of Yasha and pats her arm affectionately.

“Hey, Miss Yasha.” He rumbles, voice not betraying any signs of sadness or fear. “You’ve done a very good deed today, so you need to come back, alright?”

Slowly, he lights incense and sets a diamond on Yasha’s shoulders before lacing his fingers with Jester’s. He offers her a sympathetic smile and slight nod, and she nods back, eyes fierce with determination. They both send silent prayers to their gods and bow their heads, as they send bouts of healing spells into Yasha and into the diamond.

The diamond glows brilliantly before it shatters, sprinkling the fallen barbarian with golden specks of light that seep into her skin. A few minutes pass by as Jester and Caduceus pray, trying to bring their friend back to the land of the living. The last remnants of diamonds are absorbed into Yasha, and the air descends into silence.

Silence that’s promptly shattered as Yasha’s eyes fly open.

Everyone gasps in relief as she inhales shakily, body jerking back to life. Immediately, Caduceus and Jester spring into action, pouring the rest of their magic into healing the severe damage dealt to Yasha’s legs and torso. The bones right themselves with a series of pops and the muscles sew themselves back together, forming legs and a torso that look healthy once again. The wounds left by the jagged stalagmites are also sewn shut after the spear-like stones are removed.

As Yasha turns herself over, the others come to sit near her. Beau and Molly sit by her head, Fjord sits next to Jester, and Caleb and Nott take up the vacant space near Caduceus. Jester bows her head and hunches over Yasha, fighting back her tears.

“You _idiot_.” She says softly, voice thick.

Yasha looks at her with tired eyes, but she doesn’t flinch back in guilt like she normally would. Jester scowls playfully. “You’re supposed to say, ‘I know, Jester! I won’t ever do it again because I’m not that stupid!’”

A small smile tugs at Yasha’s lips.

“Oh no you don’t.” Jester admonishes. “Don’t you give me a smile now, missy.”

Yasha closes her eyes, but the smile stays in tact. Jester sighs, tucking herself into her side. “I’m kidding, I could never stay mad at you, Yasha.”

As the others slowly get up and start getting settled for the night, Jester leans close to Yasha’s ear.

“Thank you, Yasha.” One of Yasha’s eyes open to peer at the tiefling. “If - if you hadn’t have come back for me-”

A thick, muscular arm wraps around Jester gently as she trembles. Yasha hums deep in her throat, the vibration shaking Jester, and says something in Celestial. Jester wipes at her eyes and leans further into the embrace as Yasha sings quietly.

From further away, Caleb hears Yasha sing, “ _Rest easy, my heart. We shall fly again soon._ ”

His smile is a gentle thing.


	7. Passing Out from the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yasha doesn't like showing weakness in front of others. it's a sign she wasn't strong enough.
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> too bad caleb's a smart man.

Caleb prides himself on being a smart man.

His mind is his weapon after all, so he sharpens it well. He is constantly searching for more knowledge and information, storing it all in his mind where it can be utilized in future situations. He needs to be smart - if he is not, it could cost him his life. If he even slips up in the slightest bit, Ikithon could learn of his existence and come after him, and Caleb, with all of his knowledge, does not know how he could handle that. So, he keeps himself well-read and absorbs all knowledge he comes across.

It has proven beneficial, to be a smart man.

And it does not take a smart man to figure out something is wrong with Yasha.

The way she carries herself is the biggest clue as to something amiss. Normally, the titan of a woman holds her shoulders loose, arms hanging by her sides and face passive. She gives off the air of ‘I-won’t-fuck-with-you-if-you-don’t-fuck-with-me’ all the while keeping her face schooled into an indifferent frown. Now, however, her shoulders are hunched up, arms crossed defensively over her chest as her lips turn up in an almost snarl.

It’s a stature Caleb knows well.

The posture of someone wounded, but too scared to approach for help.

It doesn’t appear as though the others have noticed. Maybe Caduceus has, with his intense perception, but if he has, he hasn’t brought it up. His compassion and gentle nature will be the death of someone, Caleb thinks.

At first, Caleb doesn’t bring it up either, too scared to approach the barbarian who could probably shotput him eighty feet easily. He merely watches, observes, and takes mental notes. He notes how she holds herself very stiffly, indicating a wound on either her torso, back, or maybe even something internal. She is very wary of Jester and Beau’s wandering hands, stepping away from their playful smacks or hugs with a polite excuse. She also avoids brushing up against anything that would touch her center.

Caleb remains quiet, still observing.

He notes that if something does come into contact with her back, Yasha bites her lips fiercely and jerks away, hissing something under her breath in a language Caleb recognizes, but does not understand. Yasha also pauses every so often to take a few, deep breaths. That is unusual given the fact that Yasha can go toe-to-toe with an orc and still have the energy to jog a marathon directly after.

As he studies her breathing, Caleb adds a few more additional notes.

Yasha’s skin is normally a pale grey, which Caleb knows is normal for aasimars - especially of the fallen kind - but now, her skin is pale in a way that is sickly, _feeble_ even. Dark circles that stand out like bruises rest under each of her eyes, barely noticeable under her facial paint. Her eyes are also a clue, as the normally bright, other-worldly irises sport a dull shade over them, like a film, almost. Her forehead glistens with a thin sheen of sweat as she takes slow, measured steps, her pace unusually staggered.

It’s with all this information that Caleb decides he needs to talk with Yasha.

It’s easier said than done however, since someone’s always by her side.

The first time he tries, Mollymauk is by her side, drooling over some expensive jewelry in a window of a shop. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t go along with his playful banter, and that is another change Caleb notes. Mollymauk is put off with her distinct lack of a response, but doesn’t say anything, merely standing on his toes and patting her cheek affectionately as he crows something in Infernal.

The next time Caleb tries, Jester is with her, and she is unrelenting in trying to get Yasha to try some of her pastry. Yasha refuses, but not unkindly. Honestly, to Caleb, it looks like Yasha is close to being sick, cheeks tinged slightly with a green hue. Finally, to appease the energetic tiefling, Yasha relents and takes a small, tiny bite of the baked good. It takes her a while to swallow, but she smiles encouragingly at Jester nonetheless. The cleric cheers at her response and skips off to haggle Beauregard into trying some as well.

The third time he tries, his attempt his brief. She is with Caduceus and the two towering giants are glancing through a window at a display of tea packets. He barely gets within five feet of them before he quickly realizes that they are very invested in their conversation.

“Miss Yasha, I’ve been thinking about getting more flavors for my tea, mind helping me choose a few?” Caduceus asks, one ear flicking lazily.

Yasha shifts stiffly. “Oh, I don’t really know tea things, but I can try, I guess.”

“Mm, good. I was thinking about getting a packet of lavender and a packet of honeysuckle.” The firbolg points to said packets.

“Well, I’ve never had either so, I suppose you should get them.” Yasha says, uncertainty coloring her tone.

Caduceus looks at her calmly. “Have you ever had tea, Miss Yasha?”

“Yes, a couple of times, but it was the same flavor. It was Mollymauk’s specialty - willowbark? Maybe it was widowbark. It was one of the two.” Yasha looks up as she recalls.

“Interesting.” Caduceus rumbles, turning back to the display. “I don’t suppose Mister Mollymauk still has the tea on him?”

Yasha shakes her head, jostling her wild mane of hair. “Ah, no, he’s used them all already.”

“I see.”

“But, uh, I think the sunnydew one sounds good.” She says, pointing towards the packet.

Caduceus grins gently. “Well, that’s great. I’ll get one of those then. Anything else sound good?”

Caleb walks away.

…

When he finally manages to catch Yasha alone, it is because everyone else is buying their share of potions. Yasha politely excuses herself from the shopping spree, stating she didn’t have use for potions, and would wait outside for their return. As everyone enters, Yasha slumps in on herself, and Caleb takes advantage of the situation.

He approaches hesitantly, not wanting to frighten the barbarian that could rip him in two without breaking a sweat. “Ah, hallo Yasha.”

Despite his purposefully loud approach, she still jerks her head to him in surprise. “Oh, uh, hello Caleb.”

“How are you doing?” He asks, eyes flitting to her torso, which she still keeps her arms wrapped around. “Our latest fight was quite the challenge, _ja_?”

“Oh, I - I guess.” Her eyes narrow as she curls her arms tighter defensively.

Caleb sighs. “That is good. We will need you in fights later on. You are our muscle.”

“Jester is very strong.” Yasha argues.

“She is.” Caleb agrees, stepping closer. “But she cannot cleave a man in two.”

Yasha watches him for a moment before she sighs, eyes softening as she regards him. “Why are you bringing all of this up, Caleb?”

“Because,” He averts his eyes at her gaze, “because I have noticed how you have been holding yourself today. You are injured, correct?”

Yasha looks at him, and suddenly, she looks so tired. Her dark circles are more pronounced as her gaze turns world-weary. She stays silent for a moment, searching his eyes as he tries to keep his eyes ducked. Finally, she heaves shaky breath and turns down a nearby alleyway.

“Come.” She says. “Let us talk somewhere a bit more private.”

Caleb runs a hand through his dirty hair. “ _Ja_. _Ja_ , okay.” And he follows her silently.

Yasha leads him to the very tail end of the alley, and even then, she waits a minute to see if someone is peering in on them. When she finds no one suspicious in sight, she looks down at Caleb and folds her arms tightly over her torso.

“Why do you care?” She asks, and Caleb is taken aback by the abruptness of the question.

“I care because you are my friend.” He answers, truthfully. “And friends looks out for each other.”

Yasha closes her eyes and sighs for the umpteenth time. After a short pause, she opens her eyes and casts her gaze to her boots, but as she opens her mouth to answer, she hesitates, looking oddly at - no, she’s looking _through_ her boots, worlds away.

“Do you - do you need to sit?” He tries, raising his arms slowly.

Her eyes snap back to him and to reality, but they still remain unfocused. “I, uh, I don’t-” She blinks rapidly and it’s only now that Caleb realizes she’s been swaying in place.

That’s when Caleb realizes she’s going to pass out.

He tries to brace himself as the barbarian tips forward, but he is small and squishy and weak and the enormous, muscular, seven-foot-eight Yasha takes him down as she blacks out. The air is knocked from his lungs as they collide with the ground painfully, and as Yasha’s deadweight pins him completely. He tries to slide out from under her, but his skinny arms are no match for Yasha, and he simply flails underneath her. As his hands come down on her back, he feels his fingers instantly turn cold, and he pulls them back, confused.

As his mind registers the crimson dripping from his fingers, it dawns on him why Yasha has passed out.

Blood loss.

Caleb mutters a soft apology, unsure if Yasha hears him at all, and pushes up her shirt and glances down. He immediately notices the torn, jagged skin that catches on the cloth of her shirt, and his eyes take in four long, thick, terrible looking lacerations marring her back. They are bleeding sluggishly, implying that they had gone untreated for at least two days. As Caleb experimentally pushes down one corner of a slash, a small bit of puss bubbles up, and Caleb realizes quickly that not only is Yasha suffering from blood loss, but she’s probably also got an infection from the festering wounds.

Caleb quickly tugs on his copper wire. “Ahm, Nott? Could you, ah, come to the alley on the shop’s left side? Yasha has, ah, passed out. You can reply to this message.”

He gets a response almost immediately. “What? Caleb, are you serious? We’re coming out now.”

He sighs and lets his head drop back onto the gravel path beneath him. Within ten seconds, Nott and Jester come barreling around the corner and making a beeline straight for Caleb. Jester easily frees him from Yasha as she gently lifts her off. As Caleb slides out from under her, Jester examines the wounds, and tuts.

“Yasha! Why didn’t you tell me you were hit?” She groans and places her hands on Yasha’s back, letting a healing spell flow through her hands and into Yasha. The wounds slowly knit themselves back together and the ugly yellow tint from the infection fades.

Nott pats Caleb’s back sympathetically. “Are you okay? Yasha’s pretty big; I know it’d hurt if she fell on top of me.”

As Caleb watches Jester gently rouse Yasha back into consciousness with the cool tip of a waterskin, he nods.

“ _Ja_ , I’m good.”

He’s thankful that Yasha will be too.


	8. Unwilling Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> polymorph is a fun spell :)
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> i'm not a furry i swear

Dealing with magic users is always troublesome.

Beau ducks under another bolt of lightning and snarls a curse. The goliath druid has proven to be more than a match for the Nien, even being a lone man. His quick thinking and impressive strength make him a deadly combatant as he wields spells and brandishes a heavy axe. Plus, it seems that no one can land a single hit on him, as Fjord’s spells go wide and Nott’s bolts sink harmlessly into the floor beside him. They’ve been worn down, and the goliath seems to be waiting for them to run dry on power, as he merely dodges and fires a spell only when someone gets too close for comfort.

Based on their current status, Beau guesses that won’t be too long of a wait.

As a spiritual, glowing lollipop slams into the ground beside the druid uselessly, Jester cries out her frustration. “Why haven’t we fucking killed this guy already?!”

From beside her, Caleb vehemently swears as he uses his last firebolt. In retaliation, the goliath places a hand on the ground in front of him, and the earth beneath their feet bucks and roils furiously. Everyone is flung violently off of the ground and thrown back onto their asses.

Everyone except for Yasha.

The barbarian has been fiercely tanking through all of the goliath’s spells, despite her rage not granting her resistance to most of his magic. The goliath quietly observes her as she trudges past the uneven terrain and towards him in a rage, slashing away any large chunks that block her path. He hums something akin to admiration as he grins wolfishly. Even as she nears melee with him, Magician’s Judge brandished menacingly, he just crosses his arms and laughs.

“You are quite a tough fighter, hm?” He says loudly, as though addressing a crowd. “That’s something to really admire. These days, it just seems like I can’t find a proper challenge.”

Yasha brings down her greatsword in a long arc, and he lazily parries the blow with his greataxe. As she snarls in his face, he grins back, all teeth.

“What say we test how strong you _really_ are.”

His massive hand lashes out and strikes Yasha in the face with a flash of green, arcane energy. The effect is immediate, and Yasha wrenches herself free, clawing at her face as she grunts in confusion.

The goliath booms a laugh. “I’ve a simple command for you.” He says, grinning as Yasha stills. Beau feels her blood run cold and she staggers to her feet.

The goliath’s eyes darken. Yasha’s dull.

“Kill your friends.”

There’s barely a moment to process his words before Beau has to leap away from a wide swipe from Yasha’s sword. She instinctively reacts, leg flashing out in a defensive kick that catches Yasha on the side of her face. Beau cringes as she stumbles back, but remains a safe distance away.

“Yo, Yasha, the fuck? Sorry 'bout your face, but seriously, the fuck?”

Yasha twitches, back arched from the blow’s force, before she straightens up and looks at Beau. Her look is blank, emotionless, and glazed over, and it sends chills down Beau’s spine because that is not how a person is supposed to look at someone. Beau swallows down her fear and forces herself to smirk widely.

“Please tell me those aren’t your bedroom eyes.” She quips, but Yasha doesn’t react - she doesn’t even bat an eye. Beau’s smirk falls into a frown.

Instead of replying, Yasha hefts her sword above her head and goes to swing again, but before she can actually attack, a crossbolt buries itself soundly into her chest, just below her clavicle. Beau whips around to look acrimoniously at Nott, who ducks behind an upended rock with a mild shriek.

Yasha easily shrugs off the bolt, which snaps off when she flexes and tumbles to the ground. Behind her, the goliath laughs again, and the sound infuriates Beau, who hurls a throwing star at him angrily. The sharp edge bites into the skin of his thick neck and sticks, but he only smiles wider, and Beau briefly sees red.

“Impressive aim, little thing.” He croons, tearing out the star without so much as a flinch. “But I tire of these fickle games.”

He unfolds his arms and the tattoos crawling up his arms light up in a gentle blue. Waves of energy and magic billow off of him and crackle loudly in the air around him. As everyone rises to their feet, he bellows a guffaw. He brings his hands up and flexes his hands, eyes glowing wildly.

“I must be going, but I’ll leave you all with a parting gift,” his teeth glint in a dangerous smile, “my treat.”

He extends his arms out and points them at Yasha, who is standing still, haven been given no further orders. His blue magic arches high and spirals towards the motionless barbarian, and envelops her in a cloud of blue wisps. The goliath’s grin is almost cheek-splitting.

“I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he has the audacity to wave goodbye, and his form melts into smoke as he vanishes.

The change is immediate.

Yasha suddenly bowls over, clutching her stomach as she snarls in pain. The soft blue waves once encircling her explode outwards in an angry, searing light, electricity lancing through the space around her. Beau has to jump back to avoid being caught by the welling storm. Her cries of pain slowly begin to shift into something else entirely, and as she looks up at Beau, the monk jerks back in shock.

Yasha’s eyes are a brilliant yellow.

Her pupils are narrowed to a point where they resemble Nott’s, and Beau’s jaw drops as she watches Yasha’s form _shift_.

Her bones and muscles roll and shudder under her skin as she bellows loudly. Beau remains rooted to the spot as Yasha rears back and roars, a sound that is not at all human. Beau watches with a morbid fascination as all of Yasha’s teeth lengthen out and come to a sharp point, with her lower canines jutting further out than the others, not unlike a half-orc. Her form quakes, then begins to expand, clothes tearing as her size doubles, then _triples_. Her hair snaps all of the knots holding her braids in place as her soft curls morph into a spiky mane of purely white hair. As Yasha howls another agonized cry, her skin slowly begins to grow a soft layer of what Beau soon realizes is orange _fur_. Black stripes appear on her arms and back as she collapses to her knees.

“Oh my god.” Beau breathes, and along with everyone else, is enraptured by the surprising transformation.

Yasha’s feet erupt from her fur-lined boots as they extend into animal-like appendages, each toe sporting an enormous, black claw. Her body expands again for a fourth time as her face is slowly elongated into a thick snout marked with whiskers and stripes. Her ears expand into long, wide ears that flick with every new sound. Yasha cradles her arms close to her chest even as they shift and expand, hands forming massive paws lined with soft, white fur and massive claws. Normally, Yasha’s impressive biceps are the size of Beau’s head, but as they bulge and change, they grow to the size of Beau’s torso - maybe even more than that. Yasha cries again, this time the sound being warped into an animalistic howl as one final wave of arcane energy explodes out from her in a shockwave.

Stunned silence ensues the unexpected change as Yasha - Is it even Yasha? What the fuck is that thing? - breathes heavily. Beau forces herself to take a step forward, but even as her body complies, her movements are stuttered and locked up from fear. At the sound of her approach, an ear twitches and the massive creature’s - Yasha’s - head whirls around and glares at her with angry, feral eyes.

“Mien gott.” Caleb whispers. “That - that is a _togre-_ ”

“What the fuck is a togre?” Beau hisses, but before he has the chance to respond, the creature that once was Yasha rises to its feet and quietly looks at the shell-shocked group before it. Now that she’s standing upright, Beau is forced to look up, up, up, up - gods, she’s fucking twenty-five feet tall - until she manages to catch the eerily glowing yellow eyes. She doesn’t immediately attack, so Beau takes her chance, tiptoeing closer, barely making a noise.

“Uh,” Beau raises her hands as slitted eyes lock onto her form. “...Yasha?”

An ear flicks as the creature’s nostrils flare. Beau swallows thickly again, this time feeling the sweat on the back of her neck accumulate. The air goes rife with tension. The - what the hell had Caleb called it? A togre? - lumbers onto all fours and exhales through its nose loudly. The eyes narrow further.

“B-Beauregard-” Caleb’s warbling voice warns.

Beau’s eyes go wide.

“Shit.”

The togre _explodes_.

Despite its size, the enormous creature tears forward with impressive speed, reaching the petrified monk in two bounds. An earth-shattering roar erupts from its throat as extends its massive arms forward, claws speeding towards Beau. Too stunned to react properly, the claws rake Beau in a furious slash across her chest, blood spattering from the wound almost immediately. The sheer force of the blow knocks Beau head-over-heels, sending her sprawling flat on her back.

Her vision is immediately cast in shadow as the hulking creature - stop it, it’s Yasha - towers over her prone form and roars directly into her face, spittle slapping her in the face and the roar nearly deafens her since it’s at point blank range. Her ears are ringing as the Yasha-togre-thing lowers its jaws full of sharp teeth that are as long as her entire arm to - holy fuck, it’s going to _eat her-_

Its face is shoved away as both Jester and Fjord fire off a volley of spells at it. It snarls angrily and swipes blindly as blood begins dripping from its eyes. Beau is pulled to her feet hurriedly by Caleb as the others circle the raging creature, keeping it cut off from the injured monk. The bloody grooves carved into her chest sting like a bitch before Caduceus kneels beside her and gently rests his hand on them, healing the wounds with a quick spell.

“What - what the fuck is happening?” She grounds out, clambering to her feet.

Her eyes immediately go to the creature that once was Yasha and she winces as it - she, goddammit - slams Fjord into the ground, crushing him into it by about an inch or two. Jester bats her massive claws away from the half-orc with her lollipop and the togre snarls and swipes at her, just barely missing.

“That - that druid Polymorphed Yasha.” Caleb explains, hands shaking. “He - that is a _powerful spell-_ ”

“Caleb,” Beau grunts, grabbing his shoulders, “how do we get her back to normal?”

Caleb scratches his eyes furiously. “I - _verdammt_ \- I know to reverse Polymorph you must render the creature unconscious, but I am afraid that that is a task easier said than done.”

“Plus she’s under his control.” Caduceus chips in. “We can’t talk her down unless she breaks free of the spell.”

“ _Ja_ , that is a problem. Usually when someone is Polymorphed, they retain their former minds, but with his spell in tact, she is essentially the beast he has turned her into.” Caleb adds.

Beau curses under her breath. “Great. So, our physically strongest member has been turned into a twenty-five foot giant hellbent on shredding us to pieces and there’s nothing we can do to stop her. Got it.”

Caleb furrows his brows as Caduceus hums, and Beau can see the wheels turning quickly behind his eyes. From behind them, Beau hears something slam into the ground hard, sending faint vibrations through the ground below them in waves.

“Besides,” She continues her earlier thought, “I don’t think we’re gonna be able to knock her out. Is there any other way to break Polymorph? Or that mind control spell for that matter?”

“ _Ja_ , _ja_ of course there are.” Caleb mutters. “We can wait an hour for the Polymorph to fade, someone can cast Dispel Magic, though that would only work for one spell-”

Beau perks up. “Dispel Magic? Why didn’t you just say that earlier?” She ignores Caleb’s confused look and turns to the chaos and sees Togre-Yasha swat at Molly angrily. “Yo, Jessie! Can you cast Dispel Magic?”

The tiefling parries a large paw with her lollipop, face twisted into a focused grimace. “Of course I can! Why though?”

“Just do it!” Beau says, running to join the fray. Jester jumps away from Yasha’s range and raises an arm, holy symbol flashing brilliantly as she mutters something. Immediately a pink ray of magic spirals towards Yasha and seeps into her eyes, causing the giant to recoil viciously with a wide swing that hits Fjord, Molly, and Nott, but misses Jester and Beau as they duck out of the way. However, instead of the usual bright light of a successful Dispel Magic, the pink energy blinks out and Yasha roars, lunging back to attack.

Her giant claws latch onto Jester’s arm and with one powerful motion, she hurls the cleric across the room. Her airborne form slams into a pillar and falls, and she only just avoids eating dirt as Fjord bamfs his way over to her, catching her limp body. 

Beau curses under her breath for the umpteenth time and leaps, spring-boarding off of one of Yasha’s enormous arms and using the momentum to nail a kick straight into Yasha’s nose. Her ki channels through the blow as Beau tries to stun Yasha. Unfortunately, it seems like today just really wants to fuck them over, because the togre shrugs off the blow and bats Beau away, crushing her through a mound of stone.

A bolt whizzes through the air and sinks into Yasha’s abdomen, blood leaking almost immediately after the impact as Nott scuttles closer. Yasha howls furiously and swings her arms as she tries to claw the little goblin, however, her tiny form dances around the giant’s feet, evading her attacks swiftly. This only infuriates Yasha, and she curls her hands and slams them into the ground before her, causing the earth to shift and rock violently, launching Nott into the air. A massive, clawed hand catches her and squeezes her tightly, and Nott, as much as she struggles, can’t break free of her tightening grasp.

Molly hisses something in Infernal loudly before taking out both of his swords and charging the immense togre. His blades slash her legs and wound her enough for her ironclad grip to loosen enough for Nott to tumble out. Yasha snarls and swipes at him but misses, merely clawing the air behind him as his Blood Maledict takes effect, blinding her.

Beau sits up, clutching her reopened wounds with a grunt before analyzing the situation. The only way they could truly take care of Yasha would be to break that fucking spell holding her mind hostage.

And the only way to do that is either beat her until she comes to or for Jester to try Dispel Magic again, and Beau gets the feeling her second option is the wiser choice.

“Jester.” Beau says through a groan, rising shakily to her feet. _Damn_ , Yasha could _really_ hit fucking hard. “Can you - can you try the spell again?”

The tiefling is currently being helped to her feet by Fjord, both more bloodied than they should be. Jester’s head raises at her name.

“Huh?” She mutters, still fighting for consciousness. “Beau, what did you say-?”

“Dispel Magic,” Beau grounds out, stumbling over to the duo, “can you do it again?”

Jester’s ears droop. “I - I dunno, _maybe_.”

Beau flinches as she hears someone being crushed in the ground again. “Can you at least try? We’re gettin’ our asses kicked.”

The cleric slowly shifts her gaze to the fight behind Beau, and her brows twitch down nervously. After a moment of internal debate, Jester brings up a shaky, wobbling hand up and points it at Yasha’s direction as her eyes slide shut in concentration. As she does, Beau finally turns back around, only to watch as Caleb is tossed away like a ragdoll, shield cut through like soft butter as Yasha howls.

Jester mutters a few words under her breath before opening her eyes, pupils flashing a brilliant green for a moment before fading back into their usual blue hue as she releases the pink spell, expression determined as the spell spirals towards the towering form of Yasha, and it slams into the back of her head, exploding in a bright pink shower of divine energy.

Yasha stumbles, thrown off guard by the magic that begins working its course through her mind. She claws wildly at her snout and eyes as pink magic ripples off of her in tiny waves. It takes a minute or two, but her struggling slows, and the enormous togre pauses, blinking rapidly as a blue film of influence fades from her glowing eyes. A disgruntled growl rumbles from her throat as she shakes her massive head, ruffling her new mane in the process.

It’s then that Caduceus steps forward, staff in hand as he approaches the still form of Yasha. As tall as the firbolg is, Yasha is easily four times his height. That doesn’t deter him however, and he comes right up to her, patting her knee gently.

“Hey there, Miss Yasha.” He rumbles, looking up at her calmly. “How’re you doin’?”

The togre’s face crinkles in either confusion or fear, but either way, she doesn’t immediately lash out or attack, so Beau takes that as a sign that the spell worked, and she sighs audibly in relief. Yasha makes a deep, throaty noise in her chest in response, and Caduceus hums.

“I see.” He says, as though words had come out of her mouth rather than an animalistic growl. “Don’t worry. We’ll have you back to normal in no time.”

Caduceus turns to Jester, smiling softly. “Miss Jester, if you’d be so kind as to Dispel Magic one more time.”

The tiefling remains silent but limps towards the massive creature warily, still acutely aware of the damage she could cause. Her hands glow again and pink divine energy swirls around the pacified togre. The spell lingers for a minute or two and as the energy begins to dissipate-

“Wait,” Beau crosses her arms, “why isn’t it working?”

Indeed, Yasha remains as the immense giant, simply staring at the group cautiously. Jester herself seems confused as well, looking at her hands as though the answer was written on her palms. It’s then that Caleb, with a huff, addresses Beau.

“Earlier, you did not let me finish my thought.” He says. “I said Dispel Magic would only work for one of the spells - the, ah, the Charm Person spell, to be exact. Polymorph only wears off after the creature has been rendered unconscious or an hour has passed.”

Beau pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales heavily. “And how long has it been?”

“Around ten minutes.”

As Beau fires daggers with her eyes towards the wizard, Fjord clears his throat.

“So, uh, what the hell are we s’posed to do with ‘er for the time being?” He glances at Yasha through the corner of his eye. “She - she does recognize us now, right?”

“Mm.” Caduceus answers. “She’s back in her right mind, but she can only speak Giant, it seems.”

“But what are we supposed to _do_ with her?” Nott pipes up, still cowering behind Caleb’s legs.

Caduceus shrugs unhelpfully. Beau finally breaks her death-glare at Caleb and hesitantly steps up to Yasha, coming up beside Caduceus. She reaches out a hand and hesitates again, eyes rapidly flitting from Yasha’s eyes, to her massive, bloodied claws, then to her own hand. Finally, she pushes through her initial fear and presses her hand against a furry forearm. Yasha’s gaze snaps to her, but she doesn’t recoil, so Beau lets herself run her fingers across the surprisingly soft fur.

It’s softer than it should be, but it is still rather wiry. Beau can feel the muscles twinge beneath her touch, but she ignores the feeling as she brushes her fingers against the two stripes on her forearm. Yasha rumbles again, and Caduceus nods knowingly.

“What’d she say?” Beau says, eyes briefly flicking to yellow eyes with pupils not as narrowed as before.

Caduceus smiles warmly, patting Yasha’s forearm as well. “‘Says it feels weird, but in a good way.”

Yasha shifts, settling down on the ground with a mighty huff as she crosses her legs and folds her arms, slumping forward. Beau, tired, wounded, and done with this shit, plops down beside her, happily ignoring all of the looks of worry shot at her as she leans into the furry side of Yasha. Beau’s entire body quakes as the togre rumbles again, this time broken by the occasional grunt or sharp click of teeth. Caduceus hums.

“What did she say this time?” Jester asks, approaching Yasha when she sees how she merely blinks at Beau’s presence. 

“She wants to know how long we’ll be staying here for.” He replies, settling on the ground himself.

“Well, that depends,” Fjord says, still standing a safe distance away, “d’ we want t’ try an’ sneak out a here or d’ we want t’ wait until the spell ends.”

“I think it is best that we wait here.” Caleb pipes in. “We do not want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves, _ja_? It is probably not the best idea to parade a togre around the town.”

Nott finally emerges from behind Caleb’s legs and peers at Yasha suspiciously. “And how long will we have to wait for?”

Caleb tilts his head back as he thinks. “Ah, about thirty more minutes.”

“Great,” Caduceus says with a smile, “that should give us enough time to rest and heal up.”

They all settle down in a lopsided circle, with Jester and Beau tucked into the sides of Yasha as the others give her a healthy berth. Except Caduceus, who not only sits close by, but even heals her a bit from the minor wounds she’d garnered. He also heals Jester, Fjord, Caleb, and Beau, and Jester in turns heals him and Nott, with Molly having sustained little to no damage. Lucky bastard, Beau think sourly.

Eventually, the time passes, and Yasha shifts, grunting as her form illuminates. Jester and Beau back off slightly, giving her enough room as the magic fades. Blue, inky magic bleeds off of her form as she slowly begins to shrink, animalistic traits slowly being reversed as the Polymorph spell dwindles. Her form shrinks, teeth rounding out and fur receding as she finally begins to revert back to her normal form. The transition ends, and a normal-sized, non-furry Yasha collapses backwards, pale form barely covered by her shreds of clothes.

Beau and Jester catch her as she tips back, eyes fluttering as she hangs onto consciousness. Jester pats her cheek softly as she lays her out on her back, pillowing her shawl underneath Yasha’s head, her newly freed mane of hair tumbling freely onto the dirt. Beau sighs and then follows suit, throwing herself back beside Yasha.

“Gods, _fuck_ magic.” Beau murmurs, eyes closing as she finally lets herself rest.


	9. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> big angry eye god likes to be in people's heads
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> people do not like that

It’s pure luck that they manage to stumble across another one of Uk’otoa’s temples.

Fjord leads the group through the decrepit temple, excited and determined to find more information on his otherworldly benefactor. So far, this place has given nothing other than hidden traps, flooded rooms, and ancient scrawlings that no one can read or identify. It’s frustrating to a point, but Fjord keeps pushing, letting the small sliver of hope fuel him.

“How much more of this place is there?” Nott grumbles, striding freely over the water that reaches everyone’s knees and thighs. “We’ve been walking for, like, three hours.”

“It hasn’t been that long.” Fjord replies, holding the torch above his head to keep it dry.

From beside him, Beau scoffs. “Maybe not, but it still has been a fuckin’ long time.”

“Well, if it’s so much trouble, y’ can jus’ turn around an’ leave.” He grunts. “If any of ya wanna bail, feel free. ‘S not gonna hurt my feelin’s.”

Caduceus strides casually up to the half-orc. His face is calm and is marked with his usual smile as he idly brushes away thick vines. “I don’t mind it. I’ll stay with you, Mister Fjord.”

“Thank you, Caduceus.” Fjord claps his shoulder. “I really appreciate that.”

“Look,” Beau comes up quickly to his other side, “I didn’t mean anythin’ by it, I’m just nervous, I guess. We’ve already been nearly drowned, like, six times.”

Fjord glances down at the monk, who’s purposefully keeping her gaze low. “An’ I get that. I do. I jus’ wanna find somethin’ important.”

Beau hums softly and shoulders past a low-hanging vine. Fjord slows and catches her arm. As her blue eyes flash up to meet his in a questioning gaze. He offers her a small smile.

“How ‘bout this? Next room we find is the last. After that we can leave an’ maybe come back another day.” He suggests, looking at Beau but addressing the entire group.

Jester steps up, tail lashing behind her anxiously. “But Fjord! What if there’s another room with an even bigger secret and we just leave it behind? What if Uk’otoa-”

“- _Uk’otoa_ -”

“-has the key to your backstory and we’re this close! I don’t want you to lose out on learning more because of us!”

“ _Ja_ , it is your patron, and it is entirely up to you whether we continue or not. We all will follow no matter what you decide.” Caleb chimes in quietly.

Nott sniffs and turns her head up, crossing her arms defensively. “Well, if my Caleb thinks it’s a good idea, then I’ll tag along too, I guess.”

“You can count me in too.” Molly says, waggling his eyebrows with a sharp grin. “I just love getting wet-”

“Gross.” Beau grimaces and pushes him. “Just - just ew, dude. But yeah, Fjord, I’m in.”

Everyone casts their gaze to the back of the group towards Yasha, who flusters under the many stares. “Ah, yes, I am with you, Fjord.”

The half-orc grins, feeling a bubble of affection swell in his chest. “Well, that’s mighty kind of y’ all. Thank you.” He turns around and gestures the group to follow. 

They continue on their trudging through the murky water, following the crude arrows for around ten minutes until finally, they stumble across a ten-foot tall door made of gold and brass. It’s framed by a wide, silver archway that sports around twenty or so gems, each a brilliant yellow. The biggest one is at the very top, and slashed across it’s otherwise smooth face is one long, slightly oval in shape is a familiar, slit-like carving.

Fjord hesitates for a moment before he extends his arm out and with a splash of seawater, summons the falchion. The eye resting on its axel glows softly, and the large diamond mimics the light, which flashes down the doorway, lighting hidden runes in a descending line. The door groans before sliding open, releasing dust and dead vines as it shifts for the first time in a very long time. The water surrounding them escapes into the room and sinks into the floor, leaving them with a thankfully dry terrain.

As they walk in, Fjord takes in every single detail he can. He notes that the room is circular in shape, with the roof of the dome meeting like the inside of an egg. There are also no torches aside from the one Fjord has, yet the room is emanating a faint yellow color throughout. If that wasn’t creepy enough, there is an elevated platform in the middle of the room, and when he peers inside of it, there is a large, pulsing eye that twitches. He reels from that, and Beau and Yasha come up to flank him.

“Yo, what was it?” Beau asks, already in a defensive stance. Yasha silently reaches for her blade.

Fjord inhales shakily. “I - I think it was a big eye.”

Beau blinks owlishly. “You think it was a what?”

Fjord hesitantly approaches again, along with the two women and they all glance inside the basin. Indeed, dwelling in the thin layer of water is the same eye, still thrumming with energy but not shifting its gaze. Beau swipes an arm through the air above it, but its gaze never wavers.

“Fuckin’ creepy.” She murmurs. Yasha hums her assent. 

“Should we - should we touch it?” The barbarian asks softly, eyes flicking over to Fjord.

Fjord shrugs and idly presses one finger into the water, but refrains from touching the glowing yellow eye. The water ripples as he disturbs it, but aside from that, nothing happens. Beau sticks her finger in as well and garners nothing in response. Fjord exchanges glances with Beau and then looks back at the unflinching eye. At that, Yasha also gently presses her hand against the water. Again, nothing happens.

Beau sighs in frustration. “How the fuck does this thing even work-”

The ground rumbles.

They all freeze in place, assessing the very, very faint rumble that seems to only come from the elevated platform. Beau and Yasha look at each other with widened eyes but neither retract their hands. Fjord glares at the eye, whose pupil has narrowed ever so slightly. The rumbling fades.

“Maybe we need t’ touch the eye?” He prompts hesitantly, nodding his head towards the change in the eye.

Beau’s lip twitches down in a frown. “First of all, gross. Secondly, what’ll that do? What if we release Uk’otoa somehow?”

Despite the growing apprehension, Fjord snorts a laugh. “I don’t think this would do it. I’m sure it’s fine, yeah?”

Beau narrows her eyes but Yasha slowly nods.

“Well, it is your, uh, god? Patron? So it is your call.” She says quietly, eyes flashing in the yellow light.

Fjord nods back, eyes flitting back down to the pulsing eye. “Okay, on the count a’ three we touch, alright?”

Beau rolls her eyes but nods as Yasha simply nods. Fjord takes a deep breath, forcing his heartbeat to slow and his anxiety to dwindle as he steels his resolve.

“Three… two… one - now!”

They all plunge their hands deeper into the water and all of them connect with the sphere simultaneously. Each of them grimace or inhale sharply as their fingers touch a very slick, very slimy surface. Immediately, the slit narrows until it’s almost imperceptible. The ground rumbles again as more runes flicker to life on the sides of the fountain. Fjord, Beau, and Yasha all try to wrench themselves free but quickly find that they’ve been practically glued to the eye.

“Oh shit!” Molly hisses, stumbling. “What did you guys do?”

“I don’t know!” Beau cries in alarm, still trying to tug herself free unsuccessfully. 

Fjord cranes his head to look at the others. “Get back!”

The eye closes in a slow blink before opening wider than before. A blinding yellow beam of light shoots from it as a shower of sparks rain down on them. The light immediately begins to take shape, forming into something akin to mist, except for the fact that there’s faces in it, twisted and gnarled with silent screams and anguished cries.

“ _ **CHOSEN**_.” A disembodied voice bellows, shaking the room with its voice.

Immediately, the three are released and sent sailing backwards. Fjord manages to land on his rear, but both Yasha and Beau are pitched onto their backs. The eye finally stops spewing out light, but the tumultuous mist remains, hovering over them menacingly.

“ _ **TAKE**_.” The voice thunders, and the mist swirls. 

“Oh god.” Fjord whispers.

The mist swoops low, slamming directly into Beau. She cries out as she squirms and fights, but the mist swallows her whole. Immediately, Caduceus slams his staff into the ground, and a glowing wave of energy explodes around the room. The mist is forcibly peeled off of the downed monk, who heaves and rolls onto her side. The greenish-yellow mist gives off a horrible, guttural wail as it collects on the top of the room again.

“ _ **TAKE!**_ ” The voice howls again angrily, the sheer volume of the word shaking the walls and ringing their ears. 

The mist gathers and then dives again, this time towards Yasha. It’s too quick for Caduceus to try and negate, and Yasha’s pale form is engulfed entirely. They can hear her struggle and cry out in acrimony, but can’t do much other than hear her slowly stop. As she gasps raggedly, the mist begins to pull in on itself, whispered screams slowly muffled as the cloud begins shrinking. It’s only until they see a glimpse of Yasha again that Fjord realizes why the mist is vanishing. 

It’s seeping into Yasha.

It’s a rather startling scene; watching the mist enter through her eyes and mouth as it releases the tendrils wrapped around her form in favor of disappearing into the barbarian. As the last remnants tuck themselves into her form, Beau scrambles over to them, eyes wide and wild.

“What - what the fuck, Fjord?!” She hisses.

“I didn’t know it’d do that!” He retorts back, but quickly shifts his gaze back to Yasha as her body jerks.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Yasha’s body lifts unsteadily and jerkily. She rises until her body is bent over backwards. With a rattling groan, she lurches up, eyes closed as she hunches over, arms slack by her sides. A breath catches in her chest as her eyes flicker open, and Fjord feels the cold tendrils of fear sink into him because Yasha’s eyes are _glowing_.

Devoid of pupils or irises, they’re entirely a greenish-yellow hue that shine eerily. As her mouth opens in another moan, wisps of green smoke billow out from the corners of her lips, illuminating her face in a viridescent glow. The soft yellow light that previously filled the room dwindles until the only light in the room is Caduceus’ staff and the green light smoldering off of Yasha. Her body spasms briefly before righting again, neck cracking as her head tilts unnaturally. Fjord scrambles to his feet as the others brace themselves.

Yasha raises her right hand as her eyes flash. Her lip twitches upward in a snarl and more green mist leaks from between her lips. The green smoke slowly apparates from behind Yasha and spirals up her extended arm, swirling around her wrists and fingers. Spindling around her fingers, wisps of smoke drift away lazily, like drops of blood in water. With a rattling groan, more mist pours from Yasha’s lips as she opens her mouth and speaks.

“ _ **BREAK**_.”

Her voice is one of many to escape her throat, and the noise bounces around the room with cataclysmic volume. As she speaks, her raised hand curls into a fist, and all at once, green light explodes from her form. 

As that happens, the vines surrounding the edges of the room lash out, coiling around everyone tightly as fast as lightning. Quickly though, Jester, Beau, Nott, and Fjord manage to rip themselves free, landing on the floor that’s suddenly slick with seawater. Yasha turns to look at them, neck jerking and cracking in a way that Fjord knows is a result of her sudden possession. Though her eyes have no pupils, he can feel her gaze lock onto him.

She relaxes her clenched hand and quietly keens, low in her chest. “ _ **CHOSEN**_.” She murmurs. “ _ **RELEASE. RETURN**_.”

Her hand glows with purple, necrotic energy that Fjord quickly realizes is eldritch in nature. A word that Fjord doesn’t know stutters past her lips and with a twinge of her hand, Yasha releases the spell. It slams into his chest, and idly, Fjord wonders if this is what his foes feel when he attacks them. As he collapses, Beau lunges forward, streaking up to Yasha.

“Look, sorry Fjord if this offends your god or whatever, but I can’t just let ‘em possess Yasha.” She shouts as she jumps into Yasha’s personal space.

Beau lashes out with three punches in quick succession. They all connect, but don’t seem to have any real effect since Yasha just bends with the blows. When Beau finishes, she simply straightens back up and glares down at the monk with a piercing gaze.

“Oh _shit_.” Beau says, eyes wide, before Yasha snags her by the collar of her shirt and tosses her over her shoulder effortlessly.

As she sails into the wall behind them, Jester picks up Fjord quickly, pulling him away from Yasha as Nott cuts the others free. Caleb stumbles forward and clutches a little clay paw in his hands, muttering arcane words hesitantly under his breath. The ground under Yasha erupts into the familiar earthy Cat’s Paw, and it flexes its claws before clamping down around Yasha, encasing her.

Yasha grits her teeth as her eyes flash with bright lime green light. As she struggles, Jester surges forward, hands glowing with bright, sparkling pink energy as she rushes up to face her head on. She presses her palms into Yasha’s temples as she pumps a Dispel Magic into the barbarian. Yasha, instead of struggling, just _grins_ , and it’s _so wrong_ \- her lips are pulled back far too tight and her teeth are sharp daggers caged by green smoke.

“ _ **FUTILE**_.” She growls. “ _ **RETALIATE**_.” 

Yasha lurches forward and slams her forehead into Jester’s.

As the tiefling reels from the blow, Yasha flexes her arms and shatters part of the giant earthy claw. With her new freedom, Yasha lashes out, catching Jester in the stomach and sending her into Caleb, and the both of them tumble to the ground. With her remaining freedom, she hammers her fists into the dirt, crumbling the remainder of it with two quick blows. Yasha pulls herself from the rocks as Molly steps up to meet her.

“Yasha!” He says, voice terse. “I know you’re in there! You’ve got to fight it!”

Yasha’s neck pops again. “ _ **EMPTY. SUCCUMBED.**_ ” She turns to look directly at Fjord and she grins again. “ _ **JOIN**_.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Fjord mutters, brandishing his falchion.

Yasha reaches out and latches onto one of Molly’s swords, trying to wrench it away, but the bloodhunter reacts, and blood begins dribbling from Yasha’s glowing eyes. As they struggle, Fjord raises a hand and summons an Eldritch Blast to his hand, but hesitates on firing. On one hand, Yasha was exposed, but on the other, Fjord wasn’t sure if the spell would even have an affect on her. As he weighs his options, his eyes glance back to the basin with the eye. On a hunch, he approaches it and peers in to see the eye still remaining, but no water covers it.

“Gods, yer a really creepy fuck, ain’t ya?” He says mostly to himself before firing point blank into it.

The fountain explodes into shards of marble as a blinding blast of yellow light illuminates the room. A horrible, guttural shriek pierces the air and shatters the walls as the ground shakes. Yasha suddenly seizes, eyes wide as the same howl tears itself from her throat. She stumbles back and collapses in a heap to the floor, convulsing violently as she gnashes her teeth.

Beau, Molly, and Jester race to her side as something bubbles up in her throat. With a strained gasp, Yasha suddenly exhales loudly, and the mist forcibly is ejected from her mouth and eyes. It gathers in the air again, faces all snarling and angry as it’s rejected from its former host.

“This has all been a lot.” Caduceus steps forward, staff held in front of him. His expression is startlingly angry. “And I don’t appreciate you taking over my friends like that. Why don’t you leave.”

He slams the butt of his staff into the ground and the same wave of green energy pulses from his impact. The mist shrieks and writhes but is slowly banished from the area, smoldering into nothingness with one, final wail.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Fjord hears the word: “ _ **SATISFIED**_.”

But now, he slides beside the unconscious Yasha as Jester casts another Dispel Magic, just for good measure. The magic sinks into her pale skin but doesn’t rouse her. That’s good enough for now, though, because at least she’s not possessed by an angry ancient god.

Nott plops down beside them with a huff.

“Next time I say stop, we stop.” She growls.

Fjord sighs. “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so!! i've started a summer job so updates on all my works will be slower!! just a heads up!! thank you for all of your support!!


	10. Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that last episode was intense....... definitely inspired this one
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> sorry

There’s not many things that can break Yasha out of a rage.

She can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand. One time for exhaustion, one time for confusion, and one time from pain. Yasha prides herself on her endurance and strength, after all, it is what she uses to protect her friends. She knows it’s better for her - with her thick skin, immense form, and unbridled strength - to tank the front lines and shield the group with her rages and rampages. Yasha and her rages hardly yield, even under the fiercest of fights.

Until Yasha watches Jester get cut down in front of her eyes.

The minotaur’s axe is wide and strong and unforgiving as it plows through the tiefling’s clavicle and buries itself in her chest, and blood flies like rain, splattering the ground, the axe, the minotaur, and Yasha’s face. The giant sneers lowly as it wrenches the weapon free, eyes glowing with bloodlust.

Yasha doesn’t look at him.

She can only see Jester - her face, normally so soft and happy and cheerful and alive - screws up as her wide eyes leak tears of pain. A soundless cry of pain slips past her lips as she crumples to the ground, landing flat on her stomach lifelessly, and Yasha feels something very cold latch itself onto her heart.

Her vision spins and goes out of focus as her breath catches in her throat, and the blade in her hands nearly clatters to the floor. The only thing keeping it in her grasp is the sudden, welling bubble of raw agony that begins expanding in her chest, pushing against her heart and lungs as it demands retribution.

Blood begins pooling underneath Jester, and past her friends’ screams, past the sound of her heart in her throat, past the sound of everything, Yasha hears the minotaur laugh.

Her vision goes white.

Then red.

…

“Yasha!”

The aasimar glances up from her fox idly as she cleans her kill. Normally, she’d been up on her feet in a moment’s notice, but not now.

Not when she knows it’s her.

The dark-skinned elven woman slides up beside Yasha, tucking her chin on the larger woman’s shoulder as she oversees Yasha’s handiwork. She can feel the rumble of her laugh vibrate against her skin, and Yasha smiles softly.

“You know,” Zuala says, tone playful and warm, “fox is my favorite, and that just so happens to be quite a big one.”

Yasha grins, nudging Zuala with her nose. “Oh? I thought rat was your favorite?”

The elf makes a face but doesn’t pull away. In fact, she throws her arms around Yasha’s neck and nuzzles closer.

“I don’t understand how you willingly eat those little rodents.” She mumbles into Yasha’s hair.

“And I don’t understand how you never hunt for me, but always come to me when I catch something.” Yasha replies, grinning cheekily.

Zuala frowns and tightens her hold. “You’re mean.”

Yasha laughs and turns in her embrace to gently bump their foreheads together. Zuala drops her frown and grins, pressing a kiss to Yasha’s nose, lips, and cheeks, smiling all the way.

“I am just messing with you, love.” Yasha says, returning to skinning the fox. “I would never turn you away.”

Zuala plops down beside Yasha and folds herself against her. She sighs dreamily as she tucks herself further into Yasha’s warmth.

“I know.” Zuala practically purrs. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Yasha hums a laugh. “That’s the reason you love me?”

Zuala looks up at her with hooded eyes and a sly smirk, and Yasha feels her face flush.

“Oh, you know _exactly_ how much I love you.”

Yasha sputters as her face heats up, and Zuala laughs, loud and happily, at her expression. Yasha resigns herself to her fate as a blushing mess as Zuala closes her eyes and leans back into her. Yasha can’t make the blush on her face or the warmth pooling in her heart go away.

She does the opposite, in fact, and clings to it for as long as she can.

…

It’s late when Zuala slips into her tent.

Yasha’s currently busy cleaning a rather ugly gash that’s been torn open across her chest as her love sneaks into her space. Her blue eyes, normally bright and lively, are dark and stormy, and Yasha wants nothing more than to get up and love her worries away.

Instead, Zuala sits down in front of her, and wordlessly, takes the bandages from Yasha and begins cleaning the wound for her.

Yasha’s eyes never leave her’s.

“Zuala,” Yasha tries, voice soft yet somehow loud in the tense silence.

She doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even react to her, and Yasha frowns, brows furrowing silently.

“Zuala,” Yasha tries again, voice only slightly louder, but she is still ignored as Zuala begins starting the process of stitching the wound back together.

Yasha sighs heavily as she closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath before reaching out to the elven woman.

“ _Zuala_ ,” Yasha says a little more firmly, and this time, she grabs Zuala’s hands with her own, stopping her progress. Finally, her beautiful eyes slide up to meet Yasha’s, and the aasimar finds herself staring into watery eyes.

“Oh,” She murmurs, spreading her arms wide, “Oh, my love, come here.”

Zuala hesitates for a moment, fighting valiantly to keep the tears from falling, before her face crumbles and she throws herself at Yasha. Her lithe but strong arms wrap around Yasha’s torso as she buries her face in her chest and chokes on a sob. Yasha curls around her, dropping her chin atop the crown of Zuala’s head, rocking her slowly.

She begins singing softly, stringing together a stream of Celestial that weaves around them slowly, like lyrics being pulled through molasses, and the webs of songs wrap around them like wings. Zuala’s sobs slow to a few hiccups and tears. Eventually, she leans away from Yasha, but remains in her lap, cradled by Yasha’s arms comfortingly. She swipes at her eyes as Yasha leans forward until her forehead meets Zuala’s.

“Love,” Yasha murmurs in Common, looking into Zuala’s eyes, “tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

Zuala shakes her head and sniffs. “It’s my fault.”

Yasha blinks and the wound on her chest throbs, as if knowing it’s been brought up. Yasha feels her expression soften. “Zuala-”

“No!” She pulls away suddenly, startling Yasha. “No! If I hadn’t had gone after that stupid boar, you wouldn’t have followed me, and then you wouldn’t have almost died because of me!”

The tears well back up and Zuala bites down on her lip. “It’s my fault, Yasha.”

Without hesitation, Yasha crushes Zuala back into her embrace, pressing gentle, soothing kisses to her hairline, to her eyes as the tears fall, to her lips, where she’d drawn blood.

“It is no one’s fault, my love.” Yasha says fiercely. “Don’t you _ever_ think that any of this was your fault.”

Zuala opens her mouth to argue, but Yasha interrupts her with another soft kiss. “If I hadn’t had gone with you, you would be the one hurt and you would’ve been alone.”

Yasha gently pulls Zuala from her embrace and cups her face in her hands. “But I _am_ sorry that I scared you.”

A watery laugh escapes from Zuala. “You better be.”

Yasha smiles back softly, and lets Zuala wipe away her tears again. As she settles, Yasha picks up the bandages, but her hand is intercepted by Zuala’s.

“It is no one’s fault,” She echoes, “but at least let me take care of you, my beautiful, brave idiot.”

Yasha huffs a laugh. “Alright.”

Zuala deftly and skillfully cleans and closes the wound in a matter of minutes. Yasha closes her eyes as Zuala begins wrapping the bandages around her torso. As she repetitive sensation lulls Yasha into a sleepy atmosphere, she feels Zuala press her lips to her temple.

“I love you, Yasha.” She whispers.

“And I love you, my true north.”

…

“Zuala!”

Yasha’s face is forced into the mud as her fellow tribe members wrestle her to the ground. Zuala is a few feet away, forced to kneel in front of their leader - the Sky Spear.

Yasha’s worst fear is becoming a reality.

As she snarls and fights uselessly in the dirt, the Sky Spear approaches Yasha, a twisted sort of forlorn look pasted on her face. Yasha hates how the pity she shows is nothing more than a mask disguising hate and loathing.

“Orphanmaker, I am disappointed in you.” She begins, voice already loud enough to be performative, and Yasha bares her teeth.

The Sky Spear frowns. “I thought you of all people would know better than to go against my wishes.”

Yasha’s head is forced up, and the woman she’d known all of her life cups her cheek in one hand, like she’d done so many times before, except this time, Yasha can feel the icy malice dripping from her fingers.

Her bright eyes narrow. “You know the punishment of betrayal.”

Yasha feels the air leave her lungs.

The Sky Spear rises to her feet, and turns to address the two others holding down Zuala. Zuala - who Yasha knows is so full of life and spunk and fight - looks utterly defeated, and it hurts worse than being torn asunder by thousands of bugbears.

“Zuala!” Yasha howls again, writhing and snapping against the tribe members.

“Yasha.” She replies, oh so quiet and knowing. She knows what’s coming and Yasha can feel her heart start to break.

“Yasha, I want you to live.” She says with such acceptance that it physically hurts Yasha. She shakes her head wildly as hot tears burn at her eyes.

“No! We live together or we die together! I will not leave you!” She roars, body shaking with the force of her cry.

Zuala closes her eyes and lowers her head.

Yasha feels her eyes widen.

An axe gleams in the midday sun.

It swings down, down, down, down,-

…

 

“ _Zuala!_ ”

 

…

Yasha comes to, with blood on her hands and rage in her veins.

Before her, torn apart and gutted like a fish, is the minotaur. It’s eyes are rolled back into its head in death, face frozen in an eternally silent scream. In some distant part of her brain, Yasha would be horrified to know that she had brutally killed the giant in a matter of moments, but the larger part of her immediately turns its attention to the form on the floor.

Jester, lying in a pool of blood - no, it’s Zuala, bloodied and lifeless - is the thing she locks onto, and she finds her feet moving before her mind does. She scoops Jester-Zuala-Jester-Zuala into her arms and curls over her, tears stinging at her eyes.

“No,” she mutters fervently, “no.”

She pulls her closer, until she has Jester-Zuala pressed into her chest and tucked away from view. Blood dampens her shirt and sends goosebumps running down her skin, but she holds strong, eyes screwed shut.

Someone steps closer.

In an instant, the shadows around Yasha warp and snap into a pair of undead wings as she flashes her teeth angrily. She shifts away, hunkering over Jester-Zuala protectively as her wings fold over them like a second shield.

“Don’t come closer!” She snarls, bristling at the shadows coming closer. She can see their bright red eyes, their vicious grins, their twisting forms.

Whispers and screams and cries penetrate her ears as they all speak up at once, and Yasha snarls again. The shadows dance closer, giggling and howling all the way.

“No! I won’t let you hurt her anymore!” Yasha thunders, and the shadows retreat slightly. Yasha lets a growl rumble up her throat as her lips peel back far enough to expose her sharp teeth.

One of the shadows lashes out, one smokey tendril connecting with her shoulder. Yasha howls acrimoniously and tears herself and Jester-Zuala away from their grasp of death. As she moves, the other shadows close in.

Yasha roars defensively and curls tighter around her precious cargo, and she lets a fist flash out at one of the shadows. It catches, and the shadow momentarily scatters. The others, however, still continue to close in, and Yasha can do nothing but whirl around and snap at any of them that come too close.

“-just wanna heal her-”

Yasha pauses, grunting in mild confusion as a voice breaks through her frenzy. Didn’t they know she knew that they were trying to take her from her again? Surely demons weren’t that foolish.

“Yasha, please-”

“-us, your friends-”

She spins on her heel again, baring her teeth even as the shadows begins to dissipate. Slowly, the shadows clinging to the forms around her give way to the sight of her friends, scared, desperate, and worried, circling her. Her eyes widen in surprise before she ducks her head and glances down to the person she’s keeping close to her chest. 

For an instant, Jester’s form shifts - for a moment, she is thin and tall and dark-skinned and oh so familiar that it hurts - and then she’s short and soft and blue and her friend that still is bleeding out.

Yasha crashes to her knees as her breathing picks up. Someone comes closer, and Caduceus makes eye contact with Yasha before laying his hands on Jester. Gently, he begins trying to pry the unconscious cleric from her grip, but Yasha resists angrily, clutching her to her chest protectively, even as the static in her ears presses against her mind until it feels like her head’s being crushed.

“I know it must’ve been pretty scary to watch that,” Caduceus says, voice a gentle rumble, “but it might be much scarier if I can’t heal her. I just need to make sure she’s alright, then you can hold her, okay?”

Yasha can’t hear him.

Not until she feels Mollymauk press into her left side; not until she feels Beauregard press into her right.

Not until she stops seeing Jester-Zuala-Jester-Zuala fall before her eyes.

 

 

 

 

(She never really does stop seeing it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo, managed to squeeze this one out!! don't expect quick updates though, my job takes up a lot of my time, but i do appreciate everyone who's followed this story!! thank you all, you keep me inspired!!


	11. Go Through Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes people can be assholes who hate you because of who you are
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> and sometimes people are assholes because they try to kill your friends

Molly may not know much, but one thing he does know is that, in general, small towns suck.

Small towns mean small taverns and small business, which is entirely too boring for Mollymauk’s taste. There’s never anything exciting in small towns. Whenever there is a ‘major issue’, it usually consists of a farmer being bested by a weasel, or a well running dry, or something else unremarkable needing to be done.

Oh, yeah, and small towns means small-minded people.

Back in the circus, whenever they stopped in such towns, it was always easier to manage these folks, with Gustav’s smooth-talking, Bo’s polite disposition, and Yasha’s foreboding muscle quelling any suspicious crowds. Plus, only Mollymauk himself ever drew attention, being a brightly colored, ostentatiously tattooed tiefling who was unabashedly loud and performative.

However, now that he and Yasha are travelling with the Mighty Nien, a diverse, colorful crowd, suspicion and overall racially-charged hatred are hard to avoid.

Especially after they’ve been caught with stolen goods.

The group had split earlier to try and catch a wandering bandit troop holed up in this small town to avoid detection. They had gone in two different groups; Fjord, Beau, Caleb, and Caduceus in one group and Jester, Nott, Yasha, and Molly in the other. Now looking back on it, Molly can see the error in their arrangement.

Currently, the ‘Chaos Crew’, as Jester had so rightfully dubbed them, are cornered by a mob of angry townspeople, pitchforks and all. Apparently, it’s frowned upon to loot bandits you killed after they tried to kill you first here.

“I shoulda known you’d be trouble the moment you waltzed into our town.” One man spits at them, brandishing a dull shortsword and a torch.

“Trouble? Oh no, no, no. We’re just trying to liven up the place, give it some - I don’t know - character?” Mollymauk says with a lopsided smirk, peeking out from his spot behind a sentinel Yasha.

The man’s eyes go wide with anger. “We won’t let you devils poison our land!” His gaze briefly flicks to Jester but quickly returns to Mollymauk.

Yasha shifts to block the man’s line of sight, standing head and shoulders taller than everyone. Her eyes are calm, but Molly can feel the tense lines growing on her form with every second. She’s damn near bristling, and Molly would be worried if he didn’t believe these people were definitely asking for it.

“Look,” Yasha says, voice a hair away from being a snarl, “we didn’t mean to upset you all, but we are trying to help you. There are bandits here and-”

“And what? We’re just supposed to believe someone protecting two demons and a fuckin’ goblin?” Another man chimes in, stepping forward threateningly.

“We’re not demons! Stop calling us that!” Jester shouts back, peeking around from the other side of Yasha.

A beefy elf wielding a wooden spear points it at the cleric menacingly. “Don’t you raise your voice at us-”

“Enough.” Yasha’s voice booms, just as the crowd’s anger begins to swell. Molly slips past Yasha’s broad form and steps in front of her, putting himself between her and the elf.

With a slight flourish, Mollymauk raises his arms placatingly. “Alright, why don’t we all just take a deep breath and loosen up. We’re sorry to have ruffled your feathers, but we’ll be on our way now, if you’ll just let us mosey on off.”

The elf regards him with a quirked brow, anger momentarily overtaken by confusion at Molly’s sudden change of tactics. Just to nail in the innocent act, he flashes a friendly smile, cheeky and amiable. The elf lowers his spear, and Molly lowers his hands, pleased at his success.

He turns around with a grin aimed at Yasha. “Well then, let’s be on our way-”

There’s a sudden flurry of movements - too fast for his brain to catch up - as Yasha suddenly surges forward. She swiftly shoves Molly out of the way as the elf lunges forward with a battle cry. Her right hand snags the spear as her left corrals Molly and Jester behind her in one sudden motion. As she focuses on the elf, Molly feels the edge of his coat get tugged on, and he looks down to face Nott, who has also latched onto Jester’s skirt.

“There’s a small alley behind us,” Nott whispers, eyes flitting about fearfully, “we could slip out right now.”

Jester glances towards said alley as Molly hisses softly.

“What about Yasha?” He asks, ears pinned back against his head. “We can’t just leave her-”

From behind them, the din of enraged villagers grows louder and louder as Yasha fights with the elf to keep her grip on the spear strong. Molly glances back at her worriedly as Nott tugs on him again.

“She can take care of herself. Let’s go.” She says, now actively trying to pull him away.

Molly still stays where he is, stubbornly fending off Nott as he tries to lock gazes with Yasha, who’s snarling into the face of the elf angrily. The mob seems to swell and close in around them, and Molly feels panic begin to seep into his veins.

“Let go!” The elf howls. “Why are you even protecting them? You’re not like them - you’re human! We just want them!”

The corner of Yasha’s lip curls into a snarl, exposing her sharp teeth. The elf gasps and takes a step back, but doesn’t back down entirely.

“If you want them,” Yasha growls, low and dangerously, “you’ll have to go. Through. _Me_.” And with a startling efficiency, Yasha snaps the spear in two with a single hand.

The elf stumbles back in surprise, dumbly clutching onto the stubby end of his spear. The crowd grows louder at the sudden act of aggression, and Yasha faces them head on, cracking her neck in preparation.

Just as the mob swells, and just as Jester begins pulling at Mollymauk as well, Yasha turns to look at him over her shoulder. Her blue eye locks with his red eyes as he is pulled away against his will. With a grin he knows is more angry than happy, Yasha waves him off.

“Get going,” She says, “I’ll try and give you enough time to get to the others.”

The eye flashes once before dark ink begins bleeding into her eyes, and she turns around just as her skeletal wings erupt from her back, spanning the length of the alley as she lets herself slip into a rage.

Molly barely catches a glimpse of Yasha throwing herself at the mob bare-handed with reckless abandon and a roar before she’s swallowed up by them, and then his field of vision is covered with bricks and wood as he’s tugged away by Jester and Nott. His limbs seem to be frozen in shock as his mind reels, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Finally, he seems to snap out of his daze, and he immediately begins to struggle in their grip, trying to break free.

“Let me go!” Molly demands, angrily shoving at them. “I have to go back - Yasha needs me! She needs help!”

“Molly,” Jester cuts him off quickly, voice surprisingly serious, “the only way we can help her is to get the others. We need the extra backup in case there’s more of them.”

Molly’s mouth snaps shut as she continues pulling him. Finally, he runs a clawed hand through his hair with a strained exhale before gently pulling himself free.

“Alright, alright.” He mutters. “Lead the way.”

Jester gives him a reassuring nod and takes off, no longer inhibited by his struggling weight. The three of them dash through the cobblestone roads as they search for the other half of their party, occasionally dodging other angry townspeople. Finally, Nott manages to spot Caduceus towering over a dwarven blacksmith, and they dart over to the group, panting and panicked.

Beau looks up at their approach. “Oh, hey guys. ‘Sup?”

Fjord takes in their haggard appearances. “‘The hell happened t’ you?”

“No time to explain.” Molly says, grabbing both of Caleb and Fjord’s wrists. “We gotta move. Yasha needs help.”

Beau immediately grows more alert. “What do you mean Yasha needs help? What did you do?” She questions as Jester grabs her hand.

“We didn’t do anything!” Nott shrieks, coming up to hide behind Caleb’s legs.

Jester shrugs, a bit awkwardly. “They started saying really mean stuff to me and Molly and Nott and they started getting their weapons to attack us, but then Yasha stepped up and defended us and then the mob attacked _her_ and we have to go _right now_ because there was a _lot_ of angry people.”

Caduceus blinks, caught off guard by the story and the sheer speed at which Jester told it. “Oh.”

“Let’s _go_.” Molly says again, pulling persistently at Caleb and Fjord.

“ _Ja, ja_ , okay, Mollymauk, we are coming. Can you release us now, please?” Caleb asks, tugging at his arm but following the frantic tiefling nonetheless.

He does, then turns and sprints away again, leaving the others behind briefly as he tears through the streets, looking for any sign of his best friend. He pointedly ignores all the odd stares and confused people watching him as he rounds corner after corner searching for Yasha.

“Yasha!” He cries, “Yasha, can you hear me? Where are you? Yasha!”

He whirls around another corner and comes up short as he nearly runs into the back of someone. Glancing around, he quickly realizes that this is the mob he’d encountered earlier, and in the middle of the chaos, wings unfurled and fists flying, is Yasha.

She fights furiously with the mob, batting away people left and right. However, for every person that goes down, it seems two more rise up to take their place. There are shrieks and cries in the crowd, and they consist mostly of ‘Devil!’ or ‘Fiend!’ or ‘Demon!’ or some other variation of the word.

Yasha herself looks bad - even from this distance Mollymauk can see the blood spilling from her nose, the bruises marring her pale skin, the multiple gashes torn through her flesh. At his approach, her wild, lightless eyes lock onto him and widen - in surprise or fear, he isn’t sure - just as someone leaps onto her back.

Instinctively, she reaches back to try and grab them, but before she can latch onto the person, they manage to smash a bottle of alcohol over her head. Immediately, blood begins seeping from her hair down her face like a halo of blood as the glass shards cut deep, and as she manages to finally throw the person off her back, another approaches with a lit tinderbox.

Molly’s heart stops. He knows what’s about to happen.

“ _Yasha!_ ” He screams, with all the air in his lungs, and just as she turns back to look at him, the lighter is pressed against her shoulder.

Mollymauk doesn’t know much in his short life, but one thing he does know is that he’s never seen anything quite as terrifying as Yasha bursting into flames.

Her sudden cry of pain curls into the air as her form is set ablaze by the alcohol dripping over her body. Even her wings begin to burn, undead tissue smoldering from the heat of the fire. Yasha drops to her knees and tries to roll around to put out the fire, but as she slinks to the ground, the mob circles her like a pack of ravenous wolves.

As she rolls in the dirt, they strike at her with clubs and rocks and other blunt weapons, forcing her to remain still as the flames grow. Another anguished howl tears itself from her throat, and Molly, past the tears in his eyes, past the ice in his heart, past the fear in his bones, _shrieks_.

He immediately charges through the crowd, shouldering by everyone in reach angrily as he spits Infernal feverishly, trying to force the people away. He doesn’t even flinch when he instinctively lashes out with one of his scimitars at a particularly bold human. However, before he can reach Yasha, the crowd circles him, ready to attack him as well. Molly snarls and slashes at anyone he can reach because dammit, he needs to save Yasha, but just as he is about to cut down another person, three bolts of magic whiz by his head and slam into three of the mob members.

Just as Molly looks up at the rest of the group, a dwarf in front of him is almost instantly knocked out as Beauregard rocks him with an impressive kick.

“You motherfuckers!” She howls, springboarding off of the dwarf and onto another nearby person.

A spectral lollipop swats away a handful of people as Jester goes running by, Caleb’s hasting spell aiding her rush. Fjord steps up besides Molly and looks at him with concern.

“You alright?” He asks, yellow eyes taking in his form.

Molly, anxious and panicked and furious, shoves him away and sprints for Yasha.

“Help me out here!” He shouts over his shoulder, rushing into the fray and pushing through the dwindling crowd.

Fjord hesitates for a second, but then steels himself and closes his eyes, focusing on something. Suddenly, a twenty-foot shadow shoots up from the ground, slowly coming into focus. Two bright red eyes flash open and a sinister growl rumbles through the ground. As the townsfolk turn to face the sudden shadow monster, it speaks.

“If you wish to escape with your lives, leave. Now.” It thunders, eyes narrowing.

There’s a short pause as people take in its warning, but then as they all begin dispersing, running off with screams of terror as the shadow bellows angrily. As they run away, Molly forces himself through the crowd to where he’d last seen Yasha.

Finally, he reaches the middle of the road where they’d had her pinned in, and he nearly collapses to his knees then and there.

Jester is cradling Yasha close to her chest, hands glowing with magic as the tiefling openly sobs. Even from here, Molly can smell the acrid scent of burning flesh and coppery tang of blood. He numbly stumbles over to her before dropping like a sack of potatoes next to Yasha - his friend, his family, his home-

“Yasha?” He tries, voice crackling over the word.

Jester only pulls Yasha closer in, shaking her head.

“Don’t look, Molly.” she hiccups, turning away slightly. “It’s - It’s really bad.”

Molly vigorously shakes his head, scrambling to come closer. Of all the things he needs now, he needs to touch Yasha - to know she’s here and that she’s fine and alive-

Just as his hand is about to come down on Yasha’s, Jester looks up at him, teary-eyed and devastated.

“I'm sorry.” She whispers, and then a bright light flashes around both Jester and Yasha’s forms, and one moment they’re there, and the next, they’re gone.

“No,” Molly says, shooting to his feet, “no, no, no, no, _no. No!_ ”

From the corner of his eye, about five hundred feet to his left, from in the woods, there’s a brief flash of light. Immediately, Molly’s off, racing towards where he’d last seen the light. As he sprints away, he feels more than sees Beau coming up on his right, and Fjord coming up on his left, and Caduceus taking up the rear.

Finally, after about a minute of non-stop running, they all burst through the treeline past the forest. About twenty feet away, Jester is desperately pressing her hands to Yasha’s stomach. At their approach, she looks up, and her eyes immediately lock onto Caduceus.

“Help me, Caduceus!” She cries. “Please!”

The firbolg quickly makes his way over to the shaking tiefling and settles down beside her before gently nudging her hands out of the way. Caduceus immediately inhales sharply, and that’s all it takes for Molly, because faster than even his own mind can process, he’s slid down next to them and is looking down at his friend.

As he takes her form in, Mollymauk sincerely wishes he could go back and burn that whole fucking town to the ground.

Yasha is bruised and cut in multiple spots, with blood spattered across her face, lips, temple, and nose. The shards of glass still stick out of her skin at the many points of impact, and each spot is bleeding sluggishly. But those are all inconsequential compared to what the rest of her looks like.

About a third of her upper body is covered with horrible, scarring burns. Some spots are still bubbling and blistering with heat, and other spots reveal patches of exposed and severely burned tissues and tendons. The horrible burns stretch across her shoulders to her upper back and neck and face and - gods, so much of her is burned and he can still smell it burning-

A hand claps his shoulder, and he looks up into the blurry face of Beau as she says something to him, but the words go in one ear and out the other as he merely glances back down at his friend, who grimaces unconsciously as pain stimulates her body.

He numbly looks back up at what Jester and Caduceus are occupied with, and he’s jolted back into awareness when he sees blood bubbling up past their hands.

“What-” It takes Molly a moment to find his voice. “What is - did she get hit there?”

“Mm.” Caduceus replies, and for a moment, Molly is so blisteringly _angry_ at the firbolg for remaining as calm as he is because Yasha is so fucked up- but he manages to swallow it down for now.

“She got stabbed.” Jester manages to say past her tearful, shaky, breaths.

Molly’s jaw opens and closes like a fish out of water for a moment as Fjord quietly hands Caduceus a spare healing potion.

“Will she - will she be okay?” Molly manages to get out, eyes still fixated on Yasha’s profile, hands idly carding through her blood-soaked locks.

Caduceus pours the healing potion into Yasha’s mouth as Jester, having finished stitching the stab wound together, presses a delicate hand alight with magic to Yasha’s torso. Slowly, the burns begin to undo themselves, the bruises lighten, and the deep puncture wound starts to stitches itself back together, aided by the ones already in place.

Jester tucks herself tightly into Yasha’s side with a muffled sound of relief, careful to avoid any of her still-tender skin. Caduceus huffs softly before rising to his feet slowly, and as he does Molly gently lays Yasha’s head in his lap.

“I’m all tapped out on healing, for now.” Caduceus admits as he settles down against a nearby tree trunk. “But I’ll make sure to help Miss Yasha as soon as I’m able to.”

Molly, much too tired for words, silently nods.

Caduceus notices his silence and sighs. His large, warm hand gently lands on the crown of Molly’s head, patting softly. “She’ll be alright, Mister Mollymauk. She’s a tough one.”

At his comforting tone, Molly clears his throat, pushing past the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Caduceus, for everything.”

A lazy grin spreads across the cleric’s face. “My pleasure.”

With that, he ambles away, leaving Molly alone with Yasha and Jester, who is still leaning into the barbarian. Fjord follows after the firbolg, shortly followed by Nott and Caleb. The wizard’s eyes are wide and haunted, and his hands shake and tremble as he’s lead away by Nott, who’s whispering reassurances to him. As they go, a hand grabs Molly’s shoulder.

Beau looks tired when Mollymauk looks up at her, but she offers him a slight smile when he glances at her. The hand squeezes once before Beau retracts her hand and slowly walks away. Halfway to the rest of the group, Beau hesitates, then turns back around and makes her way to Jester, who still has her face buried in Yasha’s side. She whispers something to the tiefling that gets her to look up, and she offers Jester a hand and helps her to her feet. Eventually, they wander off, and it’s just him and Yasha.

Mollymauk gently gathers Yasha closer to him, until he can hook his arms under her’s and rest his chin on her head. He ignores the pressure on his legs and gently rests his head on top of Yasha’s head, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head with a soft sigh. Yasha subtly shifts, and Molly can tell by the way her breathing picks up that she’s awake.

She groans and shifts again. “...Mollymauk?”

“Hello, love.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to her head.

Yasha leans into him slightly, just enough for her to butt her forehead into his jaw gently. Molly dips his head and presses another kiss to her temple, near a faded bruise.

“You’re alright?” Yasha asks, one of her hands comes up to cup his cheek.

Molly leans into the warm, calloused, and familiar touch eagerly, desperate to soak in any form of physical contact from Yasha. His arms unconsciously tighten their grip around her torso. Yasha idly strokes her thumb across his cheek as she hums at his lack of a response.

“Molly? Are you-”

“ _Never do that again._ ” He growls in Infernal, though instead of anger, only fear and worry drip from his voice.

Yasha frowns. Molly swallows down the growing urge to cry as everything comes back in a rush, but despite his best efforts, a single tear slides down his face. Immediately, Yasha’s normally stoic face shifts into one of worry and immense empathy as she sits up, only grimacing once in the process. Her arms practically engulf him as she wraps him up tightly in a strong embrace.

“ _Oh, Molly._ ” She says softly, voice catching on Infernal words.

Molly buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of leather and lavender and rain. Instinctively, he presses an ear to her pulse point, finding comfort in the steady _thump-thump_ of her heartbeat.

“ _I’m sorry if that scared you._ ” Yasha rumbles quietly. “ _I just had to get you out of that town._ ”

Molly makes a burred sound in the back of his throat. “ _I know, darling. I know how protective you can be._ ” He tries for humor. “ _That’s still no excuse to give me a near heart attack._ ”

“ _You’re right. It’s not._ ” Yasha replies seriously, tightening her hold. “ _Again, I am so sorry-_ ”

“ _I’m kidding, darling._ ” Mollymauk interrupts gently, pulling back in Yasha’s hug just enough so that he can flash her one of his signature grins.

“ _Oh_.”

“ _You’re always a delight to mess with._ ” Molly pats Yasha’s cheek fondly. “ _But seriously, no more self-sacrificing bullshit._ ”

Yasha playfully shoves his shoulder. “ _That’s rich coming from you._ ”

Molly grins past the image of burning eyes, terrified friends, and a glaive swinging down, down, down-

“ _Ah, you know me too well, Yasha darling._ ” He preens, snaking his tail around Yasha’s wrist. Yasha snorts a laugh but indulges him anyway, letting him crawl into her lap without complaint.

As he shifts around to find his spot - because he’s always had his spot in Yasha’s arms, obviously - Yasha sighs and gently kisses the spot on Molly’s head between his horns with a familiar and well-appreciated affection. Yasha lets her arms fall loosely around him, her broad form shadowing his lithe one as she drops her chin onto where she’d kissed him. Molly picks up on the sleepy energy radiating off of Yasha and pats her bicep gently. 

“You know what? I’m absolutely drained. Why don’t we rest for a while?” He offers, reverting back to Common.

“Mm.” The weight of Yasha’s head increases little by little. Molly can’t help but grin at the mental picture of her falling asleep sitting up.

“Yasha, darling?”

“Mm?”

Molly closes his eyes and leans back into the comforting sturdiness of Yasha.

“I love you.”

Yasha pulls him closer.

“I love you too, My Mollymauk.”

Molly falls asleep to the sound of Yasha’s breathing and the warmth of home.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

Jester finds them in the morning, asleep in a tangled mess of limbs. Mollymauk is clutching onto Yasha for dear life while Yasha has the tiefling in a one-armed bear hug. Despite how uncomfortable the pile of them look, Jester can’t help but think of how much they look like a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo hi! this one took a while, yeah? haha, sorry! anyways, i have a personal hc that yasha knows infernal and that molly knows celestial bcuz, yknow, circus pals.. anyways, until next time! thank you for all the support!


	12. Sensory Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's gotta be some kind of flash bomb in dnd right? i mean there's guns for heaven's sake
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> anyways bombs are loud and bright

Mages are fucking annoying.

As Yasha lashes out at a nearby sorcerer, she curses everything arcane. Only those with mystic powers that could magically teleport and separate the Mighty Nien in a goddamn maze filled to the brim with devoted followers lurking around every corner like the evil cleric they’d encountered could be so fucking irritating.

Yasha grits her teeth.

Not only that, but her rages don’t gift her with resistances to spells or curses. Yasha’s been forced to tank through every magical inconvenience thrown her way, regardless of the damage dealt. She can’t go down now. She needs to find her friends.

The sorcerer she swipes at is forced to their knees from the blow, but they don’t die outright. They cough up a mouthful of blood and begin reaching for something in their coat. Yasha steps up to them as the hand withdraws, shaky fingers curled around something. As Yasha raises Magician’s Judge above her head, they start muttering.

She plunges it through their chest swiftly, the blade plowing through their flesh and bones like a hot knife through butter. The incantation they’d been chanting halts and stutters as they fall backwards, blood flowing freely from the gaping wound. They collapse bonelessly to the cold stone floor, words peetering into a fleeting gasp. 

Yasha retracts her blade from their gut as the spherical item they’d been holding rolls out of their lifeless hand. It rolls slowly toward Yasha, not stopping until it clinks harmlessly against the toe of her boot. Yasha sheathes her blade and crouches down. She reaches down and picks it up, bringing it up to her face to observe it a bit more closely.

Her eyes make out an enchantment glyph just as the sphere clicks.

“Ah shit.”

The world explodes into light.

Yasha rears back, caught off guard as the magic sphere ignites in a furious, radiant glow that sears into Yasha’s eyes until they feel like they’ll burst. The cacophonous burst of sound that the ball emits rattles Yasha’s bones; the piercing shriek bounces around the inside of her skull until she’s dizzy.

The sphere is quickly dropped as Yasha recoils away and reaches up to cradle her face. The blistering skin around her eyes sizzles and pops sickeningly, and Yasha’s pretty sure her eyebrows have been partially incinerated.

The darkness behind her lids is peppered with globs of yellowish-green hue, a sensation Yasha’s only felt after staring at the sun for too long. She forces her eyes to open, ignoring the sharp burning pains they incite, and blinks slowly.

It’s still dark.

Yasha frowns and waves a hand in front of her face, only to see no motion, no shadows, no indication at all that she’d moved.

She sees nothing.

A stab of panic pulses through Yasha as the reality of the situation dawns on her.

She’s fucking _blind._

Yasha reaches out and sightlessly flails for the closest wall to brace herself on as her heartbeat begins to race. She takes a step, then another, each slower than the last. As her hand touches cold obsidian walls, Yasha’s heart sinks further into her stomach.

She can’t hear.

She can’t fucking _hear!_

Her steps make no noise, as do the quickening breaths forcing their way out of Yasha’s throat as the panic begins to take hold.

That - that damn mage - what had they _done to her?_

Yasha slumps against the wall her hand had brushed and snarls. At least, she thinks she does, since, you know, she can’t hear a damn thing. Or see.

 _Fuck_.

Yasha braces herself more solidly against the wall. Her shoulders are still heaving with her panicked gasps. Something cold is running down the sides of her face - too far out to be tears or sweat. She brushes the pads of her fingers against the stream and holds it up to her face, then pauses. It’s not like she can see whatever is on her fingers. Yasha slowly brings her hand to her face - careful to not smear it over her face - and gives it a hesitant sniff.

The smell of copper is strong and thick.

She wipes her hand clean and staggers away from the wall. Whatever that fucking sphere was, it had done a real number on her. Her damn ears are bleeding and she’s pretty sure her eyes are bloody as well. For the first time in a long time, Yasha is defenseless, and that thought shakes her to the core.

Yasha forces her feet to move, one hand placed on the closest wall for guidance as she methodically begins to make her way down the cavern she’s in. The faster she can find her friends, the faster she’ll be healed, and the faster she’ll be safe again.

Which would be great, because right now, Yasha’s helpless.

And because she’s helpless - and because the universe just _loves_ screwing her over - she never notices the group of people beginning to surround her.

She doesn’t notice them until a pair of boots smash into the small of her back, sending her face-first into the dirt. Immediately, Yasha’s scrambling to get back to her feet, unseeing eyes flashing nervously. She has a moment to process the taste of lightning in the air before her body is suddenly racked with a furious surge of electricity, bands of condensed lightning that wrap around her veins and squeeze.

She’s dropped to her knees, breathing hard as her hands shake. Yasha feels her blade yanked away from her sheath and probably tossed away. The shadows in the area suddenly latch onto Yasha as her wings erupt from her back instinctively, trying to give herself more space from the attackers. She can’t do much other than try and scare them off or swing blindly at them.

As fire bolts crash into her shoulder blades painfully, Yasha thinks the chances of actually connecting with one of them are slim to none.

Well, there is another option.

Yasha takes a deep breath, opens her mouth, and _roars_.

Her chest rattles heavily with the force of her bellow, but other than the feeling of her howl rumble through her lungs, Yasha can’t tell how effective or loud it was, and if it could even catch the attention of her friends.

A crossbow bolt silences her cry swiftly.

It catches her just above the dip in her collarbone and it sinks in about an inch. Yasha feels herself gurgle on her own blood as she stumbles back from the blow. She reaches up and tears the bolt out angrily as a second one embeds itself into her side.

Yasha feels herself hiss at the pain, shifting awkwardly to try and reorient herself.

It’s much harder to find her balance again as someone forcibly shoves her back to the ground. This time around however, she lands on her back instead of her stomach. She tries to get back up, but someone - probably the ass who pushed her - straddles her chest, pins her arms down with their knees, and presses the cold tip of a dagger to her throat.

For a moment, Yasha wishes she had her sight, if only so she could see the person who'd she kill.

She struggles underneath them, but they’ve got a pretty decent hold over her, and she’s forced to stay down, pressed uncomfortably into the ground. Yasha feels the air around her faintly trembling, and she guesses whoever’s pinning her is talking or making some kind of noise. Yasha’s lip curls into a snarl as she feels the dagger pull back slightly, and she can imagine the person giving some kind of dramatic monologue, getting caught up in their own flair.

A beginner’s mistake.

Yasha immediately lashes out, estimating approximately where their face would be. She catches them a little lower than she wanted - hitting their throat rather than their chin - but the blow stuns them nonetheless.

Taking her brief moment of freedom, Yasha scrambles out from under them and blindly throws two more wild punches. One whifs by their head while the other cracks into their cheek. Yasha relishes in the feeling of bone crunching beneath her blow. The person leaves her range - whether from falling unconscious or fleeing, Yasha isn’t sure - so she whirls around repeatedly, guessing where others might be, and raises her hands while growling a challenge.

A challenge that is accepted by someone who manages to slither past her defensive stance and come so close to her that Yasha can feel their warm breath puff against her cheek.

Yasha tries to wrap her arms around the foe to grapple them, but before she can snag them, calloused palms slam into her bloodied ears.

Yasha’s head _rings_.

She stumbles back, pain lancing through her nerves like fire burning through a haystack. The person apparently follows, since in a swift attack, Yasha’s taken to the ground again. This time around, the person she’s fighting with is leaner and smaller, which makes it easier to resist them. She rolls around with them, furiously trying to find a moment to catch their throat in her large hands, but as soon as she barely grazes them, a dagger buries itself in her gut.

Yasha snarls and thrashes, but a second dagger is embedded into her stomach, and her hands stutter as the pain begins to overtake her. The daggers are viciously twisted, and Yasha tastes copper deep in the back of her throat. Just as her attacker pulls out one of the daggers, the air right above her head is suddenly and unexpectedly displaced, and the pressure on her torso ceases to be.

Yasha rolls over and heaves, blood splattering from her mouth as the earth trembles from multiple points subtly. More people, Yasha thinks idly. She should be worried, she should get up and fight, but a wave of exhaustion slowly washes over her, and suddenly, Yasha is so tired. Her head thuds back into the dirt floor as Yasha’s thoughts slowly begin to fog over.

Without warning, the remaining dagger is yanked out, and Yasha is thrown back into awareness violently.

She jerks up, arms swinging wildly at the newest enemy. However, before she can land any blows, hands gently catch her large fists and slowly lower them. The same hands brush against her deep wounds marring her torso, and Yasha feels a warm feeling pool in her belly as the deep gashes begin to seal.

“Jester?” Yasha feels herself murmur - at least she _thinks_ she’s muttering. Her hands grope around blindly. “Caduceus?”

Small, warm, and familiar hands catch hers and entwines their fingers together. Yasha could sob in relief.

_Jester._

Yasha leans forward and sighs, relieved to no longer be helpless. Her panic - which had never truly faded - finally, _slowly_ , abates. Yasha soaks in the touch of Jester, using it to anchor herself to reality.

Another set of hands softly brush against the puckered skin surrounding her eyes. Pain flares hotly and Yasha flinches away with a hiss. The hands retract as Jester’s squeeze comfortingly. The air vibrates around her and the stimulation draws an instinctive wince.

“I-I’m sorry. I can’t hear you or see you.” Yasha admits quietly. Her voice quivers slightly. “One of the - the mages - they dropped a light bomb or something and it did - it did this to me.”

One of Jester’s hands stroke her cheek soothingly. Yasha leans into the touch.

A light, airy sensation settles over her shoulders, and something seeps into her ears. At first, Yasha recoils sharply, but she settles when the piercing agony suddenly fades.

Her ears pop. _Loudly._

Instantly, noises overwhelm her without warning. She goes from hearing nothing to hearing everything, and the swift change is enough to double her over. Jester’s hands catch her shoulders and slowly bring Yasha into her embrace as she trembles, head throbbing from the sudden overstimulation.

“Hey, Yasha,” Jester whispers, and Yasha feels healing magic flow from her hands, “can you hear me? I’m sorry if it’s too much at once.”

“ _Jester_ ,” Yasha gasps, forehead resting gently in the crook of Jester’s shoulder.

She can _hear_.

“Jester, Jester, Jester,” Yasha says, repeating the cleric’s name like a mantra.

“I’m here.” She replies, snaking her arms around Yasha’s torso as far as she can reach.

Yasha’s throat bobs as she swallows down a sob. Instead, a strangled sort of hiccup escapes her lips. Jester tightens her hold.

“I’m sorry - I can’t heal your eyes yet.” Jester tells her, voice barely above a whisper. “I used all my spells trying to find you, and then when we had to kill all those guys, and then we had to stop you from bleeding out-”

“Jester,” Yasha says again, “thank you.”

The cleric pauses. Then, “Of course! We’d never leave you behind, ever.”

“Speaking of leave,” Beau says, somewhere behind and to the left of Jester, “can we blow this popsicle stand already? This place gives me the creeps.”

Jester hums her agreement as Yasha huffs a shaky laugh.

Slowly, Jester helps Yasha to her feet, making sure to be as gentle as possible. As soon as she’s sure Yasha is stable, she links an arm with one of Yasha’s neatly, acting as her eyes for the moment. The immense size difference makes the position a bit awkward, but Yasha’s better with being hunched over than being alone.

Jester carefully begins leading Yasha along a trail. “So we found the way out - mostly ‘cause Nott blew up the maze a _lot_ \- but it’s about thirty minutes ‘till we get out, so let me know if you need to stop or anything, okay?”

Yasha nods silently, focused on trying to match her strides with Jester’s.

Jester gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Yasha’s lips twitch into a small smile in return.

The group travels at a comfortable pace, not rushing to get out but also not lingering behind to explore. Yasha simply follows along after Jester, trusting her guidance to lead her safely. There’s only a few minor hiccups in their brief journey; just a couple of times when Yasha trips over a stone that Jester hadn’t immediately noticed in her path. Other than that, it’s pretty much a smooth exit.

Yasha feels the moment they leave the underground maze - the damp, stale air evens out into a fresh, cool breeze that faintly stirs through her hair. Yasha takes a moment to take in the welcome sensations of a cold night in any way she can. The feeling of the wind gently blowing by, the sound of birds chirping in the distance, the faint scent of rain blanketing the sky. Unconsciously, Yasha smiles.

They continue on, looking for a clearing or small cave to settle down for the night. For a little while, they have to traverse down the side of a mountain, and Yasha more often than not finds her footing a little bit off, her balance off kilter from a mix of both her temporary blindness and the fact that she’s being led by someone else. She manages for the most part however to stay on her feet and keep going. Eventually, the Nien finds a small cavern to hole up in and begin to get settled for the night.

Jester takes Yasha inside, promptly apologizes when Yasha smacks her forehead into the roof of the cavern, (“I’m so sorry, Yasha! You’re just super tall and it didn’t seem that short to me!”) and leads her to a bedroll.

As Yasha sits down, Jester quickly throws a blanket over her broad shoulders and settles down somewhere close to her. The cleric leans against Yasha and sighs, whether from fatigue or from relief, Yasha isn’t sure. She snuggles a little bit closer and seems to relax, tail idly curling around one of Yasha’s wrists.

“I just need to rest first and then I can heal your eyes, okay?” Jester says, still keeping her voice soft.

Yasha turns and looks towards where she thinks Jester is. “Yeah, that’s fine. Rest, you need it.”

A small curved horn gently bumps against her shoulder. “So do you, silly.”

“I’m fine.” Yasha shifts her unseeing gaze away, feeling the concern radiating off of Jester in waves. “I can wait for you to wake up.”

The concern turns reproachful. 

Yasha shrinks back a bit. “I know, I know, I should be resting, but I can’t, not yet.” Her hands tremble in her lap. “I don’t want to be… away, I guess, while I’m blind. It’s - it’s hard to not be able to see. It feels like anything could attack me at any given time, and I’d never see it coming.”

“Yasha,” Jester responds swiftly, voice warm and soothing to Yasha’s frayed nerves, “you know you’re safe, right? We’d never let anything or anyone hurt you while we’re here. We can protect you.”

Yasha screws her eyes shut. Jester’s hands gently cradle hers.

“We’re safe. We’re alive.” Jester says. “We’re here together. And we’re not letting anyone fall.”

_Not again._

Yasha exhales quietly, shoulders releasing their high-strung tension with the breath. Jester lets go of her hands and fixes the slightly askew blanket resting on her shoulders. Then, after a moment of silence, Yasha hears Jester shift around until she’s laying on her side nearby. Yasha feels around for her hands as she hears the sound of a hand patting a bedroll.

“Even if you don't want to sleep,” Jester says, and Yasha’s hand finally brushes against the cleric’s, “at least lay down with me, okay?”

Even without her sight, Yasha can picture Jester giving her best pleading doe-eyes, as if Yasha could ever refuse her.

“Okay.” Yasha murmurs. She reaches her free hand out to brace her weight more evenly as she slowly lowers herself to the bedroll. Yasha settles down parallel to where she’s pretty sure Jester is laying, pillowing her head on one of her own burly arms.

Yasha hears Jester shift closer and senses the heat gently exuding from the tiefling. She feels Jester tuck herself under her free arm, pressing her back against Yasha’s stomach so that she’s effectively spooning the cleric. She still has Yasha’s free hand loosely gripped in both of hers, idly tracing different shapes and letters and designs on the back Yasha’s hand with the pads of her fingers. After a while, the soft touch begins to lull Yasha into a twilight sort of mood - a point where she’s half awake and half asleep - and Yasha can’t find the energy to fight it. Her breaths begin to even out as her eyelids grow heavy.

Jester seems to sense her growing closer to the cusp of sleep.

“Good night Yasha.” She says softly.

Yasha thinks she echoes the sentiment, but from the way she feels Jester’s shoulders shaking with laughter, she guesses her words had probably been a tired slur.

Her eyes slide shut.

…

When Jester wakes, she’s delightfully warm.

She cuddles closer to the source of heat, a pleased purr curling up her throat. Her source of warmth shifts, and Jester feels bulky arms slide around her waist. She opens her eyes and finds herself at eye-level with Yasha’s chest. She’s cocooned by the larger woman’s massive arms in a gentle, loose embrace, cradled close to the sleeping barbarian in a way that Jester thinks is downright adorable.

Which is why Jester is sad that she has to get up.

Slowly, so as not to disturb the dozing Yasha, Jester sits up in Yasha’s hold and yawns widely, fangs flashing in the dim firelight. She rubs the sleep from her eyes as she shifts to be closer to the other woman’s head. Jester gently cups one of Yasha’s cheeks in her hand, smiling when she unconsciously leans into the soft touch.

Jester begins methodically running her thumb across the hard planes of Yasha’s face, weaving in wisps of healing magic expertly. The pink, scarred tissue begins to stitch itself back together, blisters waning as the burn is healed over. Once the raw, inflamed skin fades entirely, Jester touches her fingers to Yasha’s eyelids with a butterfly-light touch and pumps one more restoration spell into the damaged eyes.

Yasha rouses at her touch, eyes fluttering open as she comes to consciousness.

Immediately, Yasha’s pupils narrow into thin slits and she winces a bit. Jester quickly casts Thaumaturgy and renders the flames from their temporary campfire into gentle embers, dimming the lights. She also moves to sit in between Yasha and the source of light, shielding her sensitive eyes as much as she can.

“Hey, Yasha,” Jester says, reaching for one of Yasha’s hands, “are you feeling better?”

The big woman blinks steadily, trying to readjust her eyes to seeing again. The hand Jester reached for curls around her own gently as Yasha sits up. Yasha’s narrowed eyes eventually begin to widen as she idly starts to feel around her face with her free hand, surprise flitting across her features when she feels no rigid burn marks.

Yasha fixes her gaze slowly to Jester’s face, suddenly remembering the question she’s been asked.

“I - yes, I am now. Thank you, Jester.” Yasha responds quietly, eyes roving over Jester’s features.

“That’s good!” Jester crows, beaming. “I missed seeing your beautiful eyes!”

“I missed seeing _you_.” Yasha replies quietly.

It takes Jester a moment to process the compliment, but when it finally clicks, Jester can’t help the sudden squeal of delight that slips past her lips. She throws her arms around the larger woman who’s now furiously blushing and trills happily. Yasha averts her gaze a bit sheepishly as Jester clings to her torso like a cub would. Jester feels one of Yasha’s big hands gently land on the crown of her head and hesitantly ruffle the hair there. The large hand is nearly the size of Jester’s head, so she leans into the warm palm with a pleased noise bubbling up her throat.

The flustered look Yasha had shifts into something warmer as a soft smile tugs at the corners of Yasha’s lips. Jester takes a moment to take in her features and decides she’ll draw this image in her head later.

But now, she simply cuddles with Yasha, happy to have her alive and whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! sorry its been a while since i lasted posted but school is getting a little hectic lol. i'll try and keep this going but it may be a kinda slow with updates. i'm not dead tho! anyways thanks to everyone who's supported my fic!i love ya'll!


	13. Broken Ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> internal injuries are no laughing matter man
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> shit hurts

“Watch your back!”

Yasha plants her heel in the loose dirt and spins around quickly, eyes quickly spotting the hulking figure racing towards her, thanks to Fjord’s cry. The ogre swiftly approaching her howls something in Giant before he raises his arm and swings wildly at her. Clutched in his thick hand is a large, wide stone club, and it careens towards her faster than Yasha expects.

She barely manages to avoid the club, ducking under it and rolling towards an opening as the blunt weapon slams into the ground harmlessly. Yasha deftly shoots to her feet and leaps back as a second attack hurdles her way. The ogre snarls at her, furious that she’d evaded him, and pulls his club free from the dirt. As he does, Yasha briefly surveys the battlefield.

Lying prone across the open field, Beauregard is unconscious, beaten down by a wooden maul wielded by a second ogre. Jester frantically is trying to reach the monk but is forced to retreat by the ogre’s wide swings. Nott is firing bolt after bolt into the ogre’s thick back, trying to bring its attention away from Jester. Molly is doing something similar, scoring deep gashes into the thick legs of the towering foe with his glowing scimitars.

Across the way, Caleb is in similar trouble. He is held in the third ogre’s meaty hand, hanging limply from his grasp. Fjord is harrying the giant with both spells and his falchion as he attempts to free the wizard from the ogre’s grasp. Caduceus is watching over them, one hand outstretched as he casts spells to either assist Fjord or injure the ogre. Its slow-going, but Yasha can tell both ogres are going to go down soon enough.

Yasha growls and slashes at the ogre before her. The first swing plows through one of his thighs, and the second attack nearly eviscerates him - the only thing keeping his guts inside of him is one thick arm curled around his belly. She readjusts her grip on Magician’s Judge.

The ogre, outraged at her heavy hits, rears his arm back and swings his club at Yasha again, aiming for her head, and she just manages to bend around the blow, side-stepping the front of the massive weapon just before it could do any damage. She skids back on her toes, digging in to slow down her slide, and she ends up practically kneeling in the mud. It’s sheer luck that she hadn’t been hit on that attack.

Unfortunately, luck always runs out.

As she rises to her feet, the club swings again, right for her head, and the mud under her boots doesn’t give her the proper footing to dodge again. Yasha raises her sword up, preparing to parry the blow, when the direction of the club shifts ever so slightly, and the full weight of the club connects with Yasha’s shoulder and arm.

There’s the sickening snap of bone as Yasha’s upper arm and wrist are broken swiftly under the force of the club, and her shoulder is jarred out of its socket. Yasha grits her teeth as her ears begin to ring. Despite rolling the club with her greatsword, turning the hit into a glancing blow, it was still strong enough to crush her bones.

Yasha staggers back, sword dipping into the mud as she tries to keep it held up with only one hand - the other hanging limp and useless by her side. Growling, she clumsily swings her blade at the ogre. One goes wide, missing by a long shot, while the other barely bites into the flesh of the ogre’s bulky upper arm.

The ogre barks a short laugh, amused by her pathetic scratch. The wound isn’t even bleeding anymore.

Grinning viciously, the ogre bats Yasha’s sword from her hands, easily smacking it from her flimsy grip with his club, and the hit sends it skittering about thirty feet away. The blow spins Yasha around, and by the time she reorients herself, the club, blurred with motion, is just a foot away from her.

All Yasha can really do is brace for impact.

The enormous stone club slams into her side mercilessly, wide enough to reach from under Yasha’s arm to her hip. Yasha can’t fight the pained cry that escapes her lips as the power in the blow connects, and her feet leave the ground.

She’s sent tumbling in the air, flipping head over heels until her momentum is suddenly halted by a nearby tree. Her back hits it dead-on, and immediately, a spittle of blood comes up out of Yasha’s mouth. The sheer force of the club’s strike makes her skid off the surface of the tree, and she crashes to the ground, sprawling on impact.

When she finally comes to a rest, Yasha’s back is pressed into the mud, staring up at the cloudy sky above in a daze.

Yasha tries to take a deep breath in, but it hiccups halfway up her throat.

Immediately, a furious, stabbing pain roars throughout her body, pulsing especially painfully in her chest. Thick blood bubbles up her throat and spills out of the corners of her mouth. Yasha’s chest heaves again and again as she grows more panicked.

She’s _drowning_ \- she’s drowning _in her own blood._

Yasha’s not stupid; she knows what happened. Most, if not all of her ribs are in some way broken or fractured. She’s most likely punctured her lungs with shards of her own shattered bones. There’s blood slowly filling her lungs, and soon enough, it could kill her.

Yasha chokes around the mouthful of blood in her mouth and tries to turn herself over. The pain radiating along her sides and chest screams in protest, and more blood pools in her mouth. Yasha manages to roll herself onto her stomach, and promptly vomits up a worrying amount of dark blood that splatters the dirt beneath her.

The ground rumbles in a distinct pattern, and Yasha blearily looks up into the beady eyes of the approaching ogre. He starts spouting off something in Giant, but Yasha tunes him out, focusing her attention on getting her shaking arms to cooperate. If she could move, she could stand, and if she could stand, she could fight.

She needs to get her sword.

Apparently irritated by her lack of concern, the ogre rears his leg back and kicks Yasha’s stomach.

Blood immediately spurts from her mouth as she is sent sprawling. Her sides feel like they’re igniting, pain tearing through her like a fire through kinder. She ends up face-down in the mud, cheek pressed against the ground, caking her face in a mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt.

Yasha wheezes, breath rattling around in her chest like an animal that’s taking its dying breath. Again, she tries pulling herself up, crawling slowly towards the familiar glint of steel. She refuses to die now, so she keeps dragging herself forward, heedless of the pain wracking her frame.

Suddenly, the little bit of air in her lungs is forcibly ejected as something large and heavy slams into her back and pins her in place.

Yasha frantically tries to claw her way out from under it, but the thing - she’s pretty sure it’s the ogre’s foot - is too heavy. 

The massive foot presses even harder into Yasha’s back, and blood spews past her lips as her lungs start to collapse. Yasha makes a strangled sort of growl as she digs her functioning fingers into the soft dirt. Veins bulge in her forehead and arms as Yasha tries to pull her way free, straining with the effort. Her fangs flash as she grits her teeth to squash down any pained noises from escaping her.

However, as the foot stomps down on her again, her clenched jaws can’t hold back the muffled shout of acrimony.

The blood continuing to flood her mouth increases in volume dramatically, and the grunts of pain grew increasingly more choked and wet. Yasha’s fingers uncurl, formerly lodged deep in grooves in the dirt but now lying limp and useless in front of her. Yasha can’t take any breaths in - the foot crushing her is pressed too far on her chest to allow a proper inhale - and blood oozes out from her mouth and pools next to her face.

Yasha’s eyes begin to close, and the last thing she hears the the roaring laugh of the ogre above her.

…

For a brief moment, Yasha drifts.

It’s quiet and warm and restful being in the dusk between wakefulness and unconsciousness. It’s nice.

A gentle light filters through her wandering mind. Someone’s calling her.

She wants to rest.

 _Not yet._ A soft voice says.

She’s so tired.

 _It’s too early for you, child._ The voice responds.

Child?

 _Your friends are waiting._ The voice is decidedly feminine and soothing. _You can’t leave them yet._

The light begins to grow brighter as it envelopes her. Where Yasha expects blindness and fire she finds only warmth and comfort. It wraps around her like an embrace and Yasha finds herself sinking into it without a fight.

 _Rest easy, Yasha of the Storm._ The voice says. _For the Mother and her children are watching over you._

Yasha’s vision fades.

…

Someone is beside her.

Abruptly, Yasha’s eyes fly open, and her wild eyes meet the calm face of Caduceus Clay.

The firbolg is sitting cross-legged by her side, watching her with an even gaze. One of his long ears twitches idly as he looks down at her, and a smile slowly spreads across his face.

Yasha realizes quickly that she’s been rolled onto her back. She’s staring up at Caduceus, his long willowy frame casting a thin shadow over her face. Her gaze shifts past him and catches the form of the ogre who’d knocked her unconscious lying face-down around forty feet away. Nott and Fjord are arguing nearby - something about how to extract the large tusks from their quarry - but neither look too hurt. She can’t see anyone else, but if they’re taking the time to quarrel, then everyone is most likely okay.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake.” Caduceus rumbles, and Yasha’s eyes flit back to him. “How’re you feelin’, Miss Yasha?”

Yasha thinks that it’s weird that he’s asking her that when he’s sitting there coated with blood. It’s a worrying amount of blood too - crimson splotches a stark contrast to his pale pastel shirt. Absentmindedly, she reaches up to probe for a wound, but her arm freezes part way off the ground as the dulled pain comes back full-force, and she hisses in pain.

Caduceus’ lopsided grin softens into a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

His long furry hands gently alight on top of Yasha’s chest, taking extra care to not further aggravate her internal wounds. A brief flash of light pulses from his outstretched hands, and a wave of cool energy washes over Yasha.

Her ribs slowly realign and snap back together, and Yasha can feel the shrapnels of bones as they’re pulled from her lungs. The damaged tissue quickly mends itself, but the brief exchange causes a slight bubble of blood to lurch up her throat. One of Caduceus’ long ears twitches at the sound of her wet gasp, and he gently turns her face to the side, giving her the ability to spit out a thick wad of bloody bile.

After that, the firbolg slowly and carefully helps Yasha sit up after checking to make sure all of her ribs had been healed properly. Then, he methodically wraps her wrist and arm in thick gauze, using a small rod as a makeshift splint. After that, he uses a long strip of cloth to create a sling for Yasha’s arm, allowing it to rest as it healed.

“Sorry about the arm.” He says, voice burred yet soft. “I only had enough healing for your more serious injuries. I can heal it later after I’ve had a good rest.”

Yasha swallows thickly; the tangy taste of copper still lingering on her tongue. “It’s - it’s alright. Thank you.”

Caduceus grins. “My pleasure. I’m just glad you’re alright now. A moment later and you’d have been gone.”

Yasha blinks, briefly recalling her hazy dream. She can remember bits and pieces, but some of it is a little foggy. She shakes her head, jostling her mane of hair, and returns Caduceus’ smile with a small, tired one of her own.

The firbolg languidly makes his way to his feet, holding out his hand to help Yasha up as well. She takes both his hands in one of her own, and lets him haul her to her feet. It was kind of surprising that such a gaunt figure could help someone of Yasha’s size up, but Caduceus is full of many surprises, Yasha’s come to learn.

They head over to the others, walking in comfortable silence. Jester quickly comes to their side, fussing over Yasha’s arm but also unfortunately out of spells. Yasha lets herself be dragged away by the short tiefling, who leads her to their makeshift camp. Caduceus ambles away, towards the still-bickering Fjord and Nott.

Jester and Yasha settle down by the roaring fire. Jester eagerly regales the story of her own ogre fight, talking quickly and moving animatedly with glowing eyes. At some point during the story, Beau flops down on Yasha’s other side, mumbling a greeting before promptly passing out cold. 

Yasha’s expression softens.

Gently, she presses a rough palm to Beau’s cheek and lets the small amount of healing magic pooling in her chest ease out into the battered monk. Her innate magic can’t do much, but it does make major bruises fade and the cuts littering her lithe form slowly began to stitch themselves back together.

Beau leans into the touch and slurs out a pick-up line that could have been smooth if she hadn’t had fallen back asleep midway through saying it. Yasha’s hand is trapped under Beau’s head and by her hands, which have come up to loosely cling to her large hand. A small part of Yasha worries that the rough and calloused skin of her palm might make Beau uncomfortable.

A slight increase of weight on her flank garners Yasha’s attention, and she shifts her gaze and finds that Jester has also fallen asleep. She’s leaning against Yasha, burrowing her face into her midriff in a way that looks like it can’t possibly be comfortable. Jester’s leaning so far, in fact, that she ends up tipping backwards and ends up halfway on Yasha’s lap. Yasha panics for a moment, cheeks flushing red, before she realizes that Jester is still asleep.

Yasha blinks owlishly, face burning. Then, a fond smile creeps across her lips.

Slowly, she also gathers Beau to her lap, lying her in a similar fashion to Jester, and rests her hands on each of their heads softly. She idly cards her fingers through their hair - albeit a bit awkwardly with the sling - and looks up at the sky.

_Your friends are waiting. You can’t leave them yet._

Yasha blinks.

Then, she smiles.

“Don’t worry.” She says softly to no one. “Nothing could keep me from them.”

Sleep comes easily after that.


	14. Compelling Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> looking through monsters and faes and stuff in 5e is actually pretty fun
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> you find so many fun things

Camping in the woods is always refreshing, Yasha finds.

She’s never really felt all that comfortable in big cities, filled to the brim with people and more often than not bustling with life. The cities never felt secure for Yasha as they did for some of the others, like Jester and Fjord. She does not fit in whatsoever - too big, too tall, too different. She never knows how to act in a proper way according to the towns, and she always feels like an outsider, no matter how welcoming the people may be.

But not here, not in the wilds.

This kind of terrain is familiar - comforting. She’s used to this. Out here, she doesn’t need to worry about her words, or her posture, or her appearance. The only thing she needs to worry about in the wilderness is how well her calloused hands can grip her blade when she fights.

Yasha shifts quietly and glances around.

The campfire in the middle of the clearing has died down to smoldering embers. Everyone is clumped together in one loose pile of slumbering bodies, replacing the heat from the dying fire with the warmth from body heat. While Yasha could have woken either Caleb or Caduceus to reignite the flames, she simply didn’t have the heart - those two had had a particularly rough time in their last bout of fighting, having both been rendered unconscious by the hail of crossbow bolts that a goblin horde had rained down on them. Everyone had taken a beating in the last fight, so Yasha, used to the rough lifestyle of the wilderness and resisting pain from wounds, volunteered for the first watch.

She’s reclining against a wide tree currently, arms folded comfortably over her chest as her eyes scan their surroundings. The faraway cries of birds and the soft humming of fireflies overhead soothe something deep within Yasha. The cool night air settles like a blanket over Yasha’s broad shoulders. In the distance, birds chirp back and forth at each other, and a small smile tugs at the corners of Yasha’s lips.

A gentle silence permeates the clearing, only broken by occasional snores or sleepy murmurs from her slumbering companions. Yasha leans her head back against the tree and closes her eyes, feeling safe enough to doze since she’s sensed no threats so far. The welcoming ambience of the forest coaxes Yasha into a comfortable rest, though she forces herself to stay somewhat coherent.

About half an hour passes by in a pleasant calm as Yasha rests, all the while keeping an ear out for any suspicious noises or activity. It’s nice - refreshing, even.

Until Yasha’s eyes snap open.

She jerks up and whirls around on the spot, eyes dancing about the treeline frantically. Her shoulders heave with her breaths as she forces herself to calm down.

She could’ve sworn she heard a voice.

But her eyes don’t make anything out beyond the thick underbrush and wide trees, so she settles down briefly. None of her friends had woken up - maybe she had misheard a bird chirping?

Yasha rests her forearms over her knees and hunches over, eyes still warily flickering around, searching for the source of the sound. Oddly enough, the birds are silent. As are the other, once loud animals of the woods. The sudden change is eerie enough to make Yasha’s hackles rise unconsciously. Yasha grits her teeth, presses a fist to her forehead, and grumbles quietly as frustration brews hotly in her veins.

Surely something was amiss - Yasha had learned from a young age in her time in the Moorlands that if even the creatures hesitated to make themselves known, something far worse was coming - yet her friends did not stir. Yasha thinks that Caduceus and Jester would have risen at the sound of chaos, what with their high perception, but both were still sleeping soundly, without having so much as twitched.

Yasha grinds the palms of her hands into her eyes and sighs heavily.

She’s conflicted - practically all of nature is telling her something is not right, but her friends have not awoken yet. It’s utterly baffling, and all Yasha can do is rub at her tired eyes and hope she’s not going crazy.

A voice breaks through her confusion.

In a flash, Yasha’s on her feet, blade in hand and ready to throw herself at whatever is near. Now she knows she’s not hallucinating - she’d heard the voice loud and clear.

It was that of a woman’s, and she was singing.

There weren’t any clear words - just one note stretched out in a warbling yet beautiful tone. It’s enough to put Yasha’s nerves on edge, and she creeps towards the edge of the treeline warily, blade at the ready. She still hasn’t seen anything. Her only guide is the voice that slips in and out of her hearing range.

The melodious voice sings another smooth note that curls into the cool night air without anything other noise blocking it out. The tips of Yasha’s fingers begin to faintly tingle, as if her hands had fallen asleep suddenly. The odd sensation sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It’s obvious now that whatever is singing the siren song into the night is doing so out of maliciousness or hunger. The fact that her friends still - frustratingly enough - haven’t woken up only furthers Yasha’s theory.

Slowly, Yasha creeps past the very edge of the beginning of the treeline. Her footfalls are nearly silent, aside from the occasional quiet snap of a twig or crunch of a leaf. Her breaths barely make it past her lips, the building tension in her frame practically robbing her of air. She gets around a hundred feet away from the clearing with no visible sign of movement.

Then the bushes around her begin to shake.

Immediately, the Magician’s Judge is brought up defensively as Yasha whirls around, eyes darting frantically for any other sign of movement.

Her eyes, now thoroughly adjusted to the dark of night, catch nothing aside from the rattling shrubbery surrounding her. The voice’s volume has grown significantly, loud enough that it pierces Yasha’s ears and rattles her skull.

Beads of sweat roll down her face and drip off her brow as Yasha snarls through her breath. Whoever is singing is messing with her - circling her in either anticipation or amusement. It’s nearly-rage inducing, but Yasha staves off the inviting red bleeding into the corners of her vision until she can actually see the threat she’s against.

The song suddenly tapers off.

Yasha feels a growl bubble up her throat as she glances around, now staying in place so as to not cause any unnecessary noise that might give her away. It’s an empty hope - she’s been circled again and again by the unseen threat - they know she’s here.

A thin silence slowly begins to settle over the area, neither party seemingly desiring to make the first move. Yasha shifts her footing slightly, baring her teeth in a silent snarl.

The bushes to her right part in half.

Yasha immediately plants her heel and spins towards the noise, blade held high above her head. A humanoid shape rises from the spilt shrubs and slowly turns to face her. She charges towards the figure recklessly, and as she looks up into their face she sees something-

_Beautiful._

Her steps grind to halt as she stops directly in front of the figure.

They’re so beautiful.

The blade tumbles from her suddenly loose fingers, sliding from her grip and falling to the forest floor with a muted thump.

Absolutely beautiful.

Her vision bleeds into a bright, beautiful gold.

…

Caleb wakes up suddenly.

It’s as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water onto his head. One moment he’s asleep, and the next, his eyes are open and he’s already in the process of sitting up. His head is pounding furiously, and Caleb grimaces as he rubs his knuckles against his temples and looks around.

The clearing they’d claimed as their camp for the night is relatively calm, no sign of any disturbances throughout the night. As far as Caleb’s human eyes could see, nothing was amiss, yet something lingering in the air sends a chill down his spine.

His mind is a bit foggy, and while that could be brushed off as the feeling of drowsiness that accompanies the act of waking up, this felt off somehow. No matter how hard he thought, Caleb can’t quite remember the exact details of the last thing he’d done before going to sleep. Knowing how keen his mind normally is, that particular piece of information alerts Caleb the most that something is not right.

Caleb glances at his companions and watches as they all seem to rouse at once, waking up almost as suddenly as Caleb had only moments ago. From beside him, Nott gropes at her head, groaning.

“Ugh, how much did I drink last night? I feel gross.” She grumbles, yellow eyes squinting in response to the pain.

Beau covers her face with her palms and rolls away. “Don’t - don’t even talk to me right now, man.” She grunts. “My head hurts like a _bitch_.”

“Can’t say I remember drinkin’ anything lately.” Fjord says, dragging a hand down his face.

“I don’t think this had anything to do with alcohol.” Caduceus rumbles. “This feels… different.”

Caleb clears his throat briefly. “I feel the same. Aside from the fact that you do not drink, all of us woke in the same way at the same time.”

“Were we hexed?” Molly wonders aloud.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jester butts in, glancing around quickly, “where’s Yasha?”

The ensuing silence that follows as everyone notices the lack of Yasha’s presence is an answer of it’s own. The barbarian is gone.

“Maybe it’s another one of her late-night storm callings?” Beau says, though her jittering hands betray her nervousness about the situation.

Molly, however, shakes his head. “There’s not a single cloud in the sky tonight, and if that were the case, Yasha wouldn’t have left without saying anything. She isn’t like that - she’d have woken someone to take over her watch.”

Nott’s ears twitch. “Who knows, maybe she just had to take a piss?”

“While that could be the reason for Yasha’s disappearance,” Caleb interrupts, “I think the fact we all woke at once to find a friend missing rules out anything but foul play.”

Jester clambers to her feet and begins making her way to the treeline. “Well, either way, we should try and find Yasha. She couldn’t have gone too far, right?”

Beau quickly follows suit, leaping to her feet and trailing after Jester into the denser forest. The group goes after them, thinking it wiser to stay in one large group than in smaller factions that could be lost as well. They end up merging into one line - led by Jester, followed by Beau, Fjord, Molly, Caleb, with Caduceus holding up the rear. Nott, while still sticking close to them, strafes to the left and disappears with a wave of her hand, vanishing from sight.

They’ve only been for a short while when Caleb spots something. He’s idly shifting his gaze through the thick underbrush, heedful of his steps so as not to trip. It’s when he turns his attention a little to the right that he catches something - the glint of steel in moonlight. He briefly ventures away from the group to go investigate. 

And left under the shrubbery, Caleb finds the familiar blade of Yasha - the Magician’s Judge.

The discovery sends a shot of ice rushing through his veins.

“We must be careful.” He says, very quietly. “There is something lurking nearby.”

Beau catches sight of the weapon and curses. Jester covers her mouth with her hands to hide a distressed gasp. It was rare to ever see Yasha and her blade separated. Not even in the fiercest of battles could Yasha be disarmed if she had any say.

Before anyone else can say more, a voice creeps into their range of hearing.

The feminine voice is hauntingly beautiful in its song - wisps of the melodies ringing in a supernatural way. It sends shivers down Caleb’s spine in a way that immediately sets alarm bells off in his head. The voice peeters out eventually, after about a minute or so has passed since it began. A tense silence overtakes the group, but it only lasts for a moment.

“...’kay, so was it just me or was that _really_ fuckin’ creepy.” Fjord squeaks out.

“Nope, nuh-uh, I’m good. It’s fine.” Beau responds quickly, deftly averting her gaze away defensively.

Molly just cackles in delight.

Caduceus hums, shifting his gaze slowly until it settles a little more to the north than where they’re heading. He raises one willowy arm and points in that general direction vaguely. “That’s where the voice came from, and I’m willing to bet that whatever it is, it has our friend Yasha.”

“Let’s go then.” Jester says, unusually serious. “She’s probably in trouble.”

Caleb nods his agreement silently.

The group starts forward again, this time much more stealthily. Half of the reason is so they don’t give away their position to the unforeseen threat, while the other half is because Fjord had gotten so spooked by the ghostly voice that he takes small, stuttered steps that keeps the pace slow.

Eventually though, they reach another clearing about seven hundred feet from their camp. Immediately, once they notice that the trees begin to break, they crouch down and duck out of sight. This particular opening is dimly lit with small globs of light that float around at a snail’s pace. It’s not much, but it does help Caleb’s poor vision in the dark by giving him some light.

In the middle of the clearing is an enormous tree, about thirty feet wide and eighty feet tall. The branches from the tree seem to droop limply, giving the tree an dome-like shape, similar to a willow tree. Directly in front of it is a large rock that rises up from the ground and into a point about fifteen feet at the tree’s face, and standing at the peak is a humanoid figure.

The lone figure has their back to the group, attention entirely focused on whatever is in front of it. From what he can see, the figure’s hair is a deep green, snaking down their back until it pools around their feet. He can’t see much other than that, since their hair is acting as a blockade from any more visual cues.

They suddenly begin to sing again, voice much clearer with the close proximity. Actually, they’re close enough that Caleb can see glyphs gliding around the figure. As delicately as a spider sews its web, the figure weaves the physical trails of her voice into intricate designs around a focal point that juts out from the tree, mesmerizing in their movements.

The tree’s surface bulges unevenly in odd patterns that Caleb soon recognizes as veins. They swell and pulse with life and slowly begin snaking across whatever is keeping the figure’s attention.

“A meal like this should keep me satiated for weeks.” The figure croons, summoning more veins. “Praise be to whatever god saw fit to let a heavens-touched stumble into my domain.”

“Heavens-touched?” Nott repeats, brows drawn in confusion.

Immediately, Fjord slaps his hand over her mouth, nearly bowling her over with the movement, but it’s too late - the damage is done.

The figure whips their head around and glares towards them, bright golden eyes burning hotly. The Nien barely react to the obvious threat - their eyes focused entirely on the blood-chilling scene before them.

Embedded part way in the tree, enveloped by slithering tendrils of bark, is Yasha. She’s sticking halfway out of the tree - the bottom half of her torso and her legs are inside of the willow. As they watch in horror, Yasha’s slowly sucked further into the tree at an odd, uneven pace - as if the tree’s consuming her.

“Vile creatures - stay away from me!” the figure hisses, raising an arm and flexing their hand.

The ground before them suddenly bulges and swells in uneven lumps that continue to expand until they’re nearly taller than Caduceus. The Nien leap to their feet in preparation for the attack, pulling their weapons free and starting to summon their spells. Then, suddenly, the pods explode in a shower of dirt and pollen.

Rising from the disturbed terrain are six additional figures, and as the smoke clears, the Nien can see that the new arrivals are like something akin to wooden golems, though they are leaner in build. The empty sockets where their eyes should've been flicker to life with golden flames, and without warning, the puppets lunge towards them.

Caleb immediately hurls two firebolts at the one charging in his direction - one goes wide while the other strikes true, scorching a deep hole through the marionette’s torso. The puppet falters but does not stop in its dead sprint towards him. 

Miraculously, he manages to dodge both of its clumsy swings. After he fires thrice more into the golem and watches it burn into ash, Caleb watches as Jester bashes one of the golems into the ground with her ethereal lollipop - she whacks it two more times to ensure its fate - then takes off towards the massive tree, Beau hot on her heels.

The dryad - because what else could it be - spreads her arms wide.

“Pesky insects,” she screeches, “why won’t you just die already?”

Her hands curl into fists, and the ground beneath Jester and Beau erupts. Large vines emerge from the ground and shoot towards the two at a startling speed. They entangle Jester quickly, but Beau deftly dodges each and every strike aimed at her, weaving between the sentient plants with a practiced ease. 

She suddenly kicks off one vine and springboards off of it towards the dryad. Beau twists midair and with a horizontal spin, kicks the dryad square on the side of her head and sends her hurtling off the raised rock and down into the dirt forty feet from Caleb. Then, without hesitation, Beau turns and wedges her hands into the gaps between shifting bark and tries to tear Yasha free, but it’s to no avail.

Caleb sees the disgruntled dryad as she, braced on her hands and knees, look up in time to see Caduceus incinerate a golem with his sacred flame as Fjord cuts down the last one with his falchion, glistening with seawater. Immediately, her golden eyes go pinprick small as she opens her mouth and screams.

The air itself vibrates as the ear-shattering cry pierces into everyone’s ears, painful enough to stun them and drop them to their knees. Caleb’s ears are ringing - every part of him, down to his bones, feels like they’ve been jarred loose - but he fights to his feet and looks around.

Only Beau, Molly, and himself seem to be standing, the others having been shaken to their cores strongly enough that they’d lost the strength to stand. Beau ignores the main conflict behind her and tries instead to grab Yasha and pull her out, but the effort’s thrown back in her face as the tree sucks her in further - to the point where the only visible parts of her are anything above her elbows and upper chest. Despite her perilous situation, Yasha does not struggle. Her eyes are glazed over and unseeing as Beau resorts to pounding her fists into the sides of the tree uselessly.

As the dryad rises to her feet, Caleb desperately tries to recall any kind of information he gleaned from his studies at his time at the academy. He remembers that they can only charm one person at a time, and that they can only survive if the tree they’re tethered to remain healthy.

Caleb’s eyes narrow; he has his target.

“You measly humans are so utterly pathetic.” She sneers, striding closer to Caleb. “You spend your entire existence learning powerful, elusive magic, only to throw your lives away at a moment’s notice. You’re nothing more than the worms that the birds in my forest feed on. Alive one day - gone the next.”

Caleb needs to right himself - he needs to focus his attention on the tree.

The dryad continues to stalk towards him. “Look at you lot - utterly helpless at the sound of just one of my cries. It’s sad, really.” She cocks her head, staring at him with a mock pity. “I’m doing you a favor, if you think about it. Putting you down so you won’t have to live a meaningless life anymore.”

A fireball should do the trick. The only problem is avoiding catching Beauregard and Yasha in the blast.

A hand suddenly caresses his cheek.

Caleb reels back from the dryad’s touch, surprised at how swiftly and silently she had made her way to him. Her hand flashes out and catches his wrist, keeping him in place. Her golden eyes, made all the more alluring with her black sclera, lock with his own, and he feels a gentle push against his psyche.

“Come now,” She whispers into his ear, “why don’t you just sleep?”

His hand takes hers.

(In the distance, Beau gives a wordless cry of rage. Yasha’s up to her shoulders now in the tree, and is continuing to sink into it without any sign of stopping.)

“That’s it.” She purrs, eyes gleaming with hunger. “Come with me.”

Caleb looks the dryad in her eyes and holds her other hand.

“I’m sorry,” He replies softly, “but you hurt my friends. And that is unforgivable.”

Immediately, while she’s stunned by his words, Caleb casts shocking grasp.

His hands crackle with electricity and but a moment later, the dryad’s form is wracked with pure lightning. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as the magic takes hold. Caleb keeps his grip strong despite the pain building in his palms, not letting go until the very last drop of the magic in the spell is spent.

As soon as he releases his grasp on the dryad, Molly throws himself at the slightly charred pseudo-fae, tackling her to the ground. Now free to focus his attention on his main goal, Caleb strides towards the massive willow quickly.

Yasha’s up to her neck in it, still not putting up any sort of fight. The dryad’s charm is strong - strong enough that any sense of self-preservation Yasha had is now laying dormant inside of her. Beauregard is furiously clawing at the bark of the tree, fighting against the continuous stream of replacement vines that grow back just as quickly as Beau rips them out.

Caleb approaches the base of the great tree, smears sulfur and bat shit on his hands, and flings a fireball towards it.

A raging inferno immediately starts engulfing the tree, licks of flames climbing up the length of the willow slowly but surely. Promptly, the tree begins to blacken and char, smoke billowing up from the base at a rapid pace. The dryad pinned underneath Mollymauk shrieks, but her cry doesn’t hold nearly as much power as it had earlier. 

The massive willow groans and creaks under the pressure from the flames, and without much warning, Yasha is forcibly expelled from the tree. She’s spat back out so suddenly, in fact, that it takes Beau by surprise and the women collide. Yasha’s much bigger body sends both of them toppling over the edge of the small cliff and down onto the unforgiving forest floor. Even from where he’s standing, Caleb can hear the wheeze that’s squeezed out of Beau as Yasha lands on top of her.

The blood-curdling screech emitting from the dryad suddenly stops, and Caleb turns to find her severed head lying at his feet. A little ways away, Molly flicks his scimitars free from her green blood, dusting his coat off as he rises off of her wilting body.

As Caleb goes to join his friends, a voice trickles into his ear.

“How…”

He kneels beside the crumbling head of the dryad, watching her form as it slowly turns into dust.

“How did… how did you _humans_ …” She snarls breathlessly, voice barely above a whisper. “...manage to kill… _me_?”

“Well, this conflict could’ve been avoided entirely had you not tried to devour our friend.” He responds.

Her face contorts into a scowl. “...you humans… all the same… killers…” Only half of her face remains.

Behind his eyes, Caleb sees flashes of a burning home and flaming bodies.

“That much is true.” He says. “None of our hands are clean, we all have blood spilling from our palms.”

“... _why_?”

Her head is gone with the next breeze.

As he glances up, Caleb finds that her body has suffered a similar fate, and he catches the last glimpses of it before it drifts away. He gets to his feet silently and starts to catch up with his companions, Mollymauk quickly coming up to press against his side.

Jester had rescued Beau from under Yasha, carefully lifting the barbarian up and off of the monk. He barely manages to catch her saying something along the lines of it being “the best way to die”, and he hides a smile beneath his scarf.

Yasha, for the most part, seems to be alright. “Just a little dazed.” She’d said when Jester had asked if she was okay. She’s also covered nearly head-to-toe with a thin, translucent, and slimy substance that had come from inside of the tree. The thought of a plant having digestive juices within it is enough to make even Caduceus shudder, and the firbolg quickly goes to work on the tree, spreading mushrooms along the base of the willow that begin to take root swiftly.

Caleb approaches Yasha as she tries to scrape off the sludge with a rag. Jester and Beau are by her side, captivated by a piece of now-limp bark that had come off the tree that they poke and prod at, trying to figure out how a tree could feel like guts. Caleb settles down on Yasha’s other side.

“I’m glad you are alright.” He says. Her multi-colored eyes flick to him, surprise briefly flitting across her features before it melts into a gentle smile.

“Well,” Yasha begins, rubbing the rag over her cheeks, “it is because of you all that I’m okay. If you hadn't woken up…” She shakes her head, jostling her mane of hair. “Thank you.”

Caleb offers a small smile of his own. “You should know by now that the Mighty Nien do not leave our friends behind, ja?” He says, and even if the fact remains unspoken, he knows it’s true.

Caleb knows that somehow, this funny little band of people would tear the Heavens from the sky and burn the Hells to the ground if it meant rescuing one of their own.

He knows because they’ve rescued him from his own hell, even if they don’t realize it.


End file.
